A Stitch in Time
by ignorant-loquacity
Summary: A SeverusHarry romance set mainly in the last weeks of Harry's seventh year. Harry and Snape are accidentally catapulted into the future, where they see something that neither would have predicted, or wanted to! The story follows the consequences.. Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Characters in this story are the intellectual property of J.K.Rowling. I am making no money from this. **

**A Stitch in Time. **

Harry Potter sighed gratefully, another hellish potions lesson was finally over. However, just as he had reached the classroom's threshold, remembering happily that he only had to endure a few more before he left school forever, a deep, menacing voice called

'Potter! Stay behind!'

Grimacing, he waved Ron and Hermione away as he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, his jaw set and his eyes blazing defiance.

'Potter', said the tall, pale-skinned man, noting his student's hostility. 'Hand me the object you have so ineptly concealed in your robes', his eyes flicked downwards disdainfully, 'or I shall summon ministry officials and inform them that you have been breaking the law. _Yet again_.'

At this, Harry stepped back slightly, weighing his options. There was no way that he could give the time-turner to Snape, it was the only way that he could revise for his NEWTs and train to defeat Voldemort (who had been oddly inactive lately) without killing himself through lack of sleep. Besides, what did the greasy git want with it anyway?

'I don't know what you're talking about sir', he said slowly, shifting his right hand so that it rested on his wand.

'Potter', intoned Snape, his voice even lower than before. 'This is your last chance'.

Harry said nothing, emerald eyes holding Snape's obsidian ones in a harsh glare. The potions master curled his upper lip slightly, then in an instant had drawn his wand from under his voluminous black robes.

'Accio time-turner!'

Harry reacted just as quickly, throwing himself to one side and clutching the object to his chest while throwing a spell at the older man, who was watching him angrily from under his dark hair.

'Stupefy!' Harry cried.

'Protego', said Snape lazily. 'Your duelling performance has never been competent, Potter, but that was pathetic.'

Snape proceeded to hurl a string of curses at Harry, which forced him to duck under a desk. His heart racing, Harry reflected that Snape had never attacked in this method before, preferring to cast single curses and then watch Harry attempt to evade them.

- Since the beginning of his seventh year he and the potions professor had been taking their absolute hatred of each other out in a rather more creative way than just shouting. The first time they had duelled had been late at night in one of the charms corridors, where Snape had caught the boy-who-lived wandering after curfew. Having been thinking about Sirius, Harry had felt particularly angry, and before he realised what he was doing had removed his wand and hexed Snape. Seeing his teacher lying motionless on the ground, Harry was filled with the absolute conviction that he would be expelled, and he had walked over to Snape to discern how bad the damage was. He was completely shocked, therefore, when the man sprang up as soon as he was close and proceeded to spell Harry to fly into the wall. A battle of sorts ensued, which had only been stopped by the arrival of Mrs Norris, at which point Snape had brusquely deducted points from Gryffindor, told him to get back to bed and stormed off, moonlight illuminating his billowing robes as he strode down the corridor.

Intensely perplexed, Harry had wondered why Snape had not taken the opportunity to get rid of him once and for all, but after he had run into the man several more times on his nocturnal journeys to the library he reasoned that he probably derived far more pleasure from cursing Harry all the time than he would if he were expelled. This was another reason that the time-turner was so useful, he needed to do all the research he could to withstand Snape's onslaughts.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Snape had also questioned his motives for his actions. Since the incident in Harry's fifth year his animosity towards the brat had increased tenfold, and he had rationalised that this was an exceedingly therapeutic method of revenge. Knowing that Dumbledore would never let his golden boy be expelled, he though might as well teach the brat a lesson or two in his own way. If anyone found out, he could always explain that he was giving him extra duelling practice. Besides, the wizarding world had loathed him too long for him to care about damaging any good reputation he had left.

The barrage of spells ended, Harry leapt up, ready to retaliate. The problem was that Snape had disappeared. Spinning around the dark classroom slowly, Harry could make out no sign of the potions master, and it appeared that all he had for company were the slimy horrors in jars that decorated the walls. Harry was facing the blackboard when he heard a slight rustle to his right. Turning sharply, he gasped in shock when he felt two strong hands grasp the front of his robes and reach inside for the time-turner. Panicking, Harry shoved blindly at the invisible form in front of him and hit a solid chest. Winded, Snape staggered backwards, the turner still in his hand. Seeing it pulled away from him by an invisible force, Harry grabbed the chain and yanked it backwards. Strained by their combined force, a shallow crack appeared in the fragile glass, which soon streaked across the object like a stream freed by a dam. Finally, the glass gave way, and the two struggling men were enveloped in a cloud of golden sand.

Perplexed, professor and pupil stopped abruptly and looked at each other in horror. Before they had time to react, they experienced a strange spinning sensation as the world around them faded to black.

Harry was first to wake up, noting with disgust that he had managed to fall forwards onto Snape as the time-turner dust had taken effect. Bones aching slightly, he pushed himself upwards from his teacher's -disturbingly firm- chest, and stood up. Looking down, he watched the potions master sleeping, noting his serene expression with surprise. Harry was concluding that it was best not to wake him up (there would be hell to pay when he remembered what had happened), when he heard voices from Snape's office. Wondering when the turner had transported them to, Harry silently moved closer, hearing oddly familiar voices as he did so. Peering through a crack in the office-door, he saw that the interior was different to what he remembered from occasions that he had snuck in to pilfer potions ingredients. The part of the room that he could see contained a sumptuous sofa against the wall to his left, and there was an antique bookcase where in his own time had merely been a messy stack of parchment.

Harry could now clearly hear the voices, and gradually began to make sense of the conversation.

'What do you want to do this evening?' asked one of the masculine voices lightly.

'Can't we just have a peaceful night in? Your youthful exuberance is touching, but attempting to drill the rudiments of potions into those little brats has exhausted me.' This came from a far deeper, more melodious voice that Harry would have sworn came from Snape if it didn't sound- well- _happy_.

'I thought you had NEWT level students for all of today's lessons?' said the first voice playfully, and Harry's brain raced in the attempt to remember where he had heard it before.

'I did. They're all as incompetent as each other.' A hint of sarcasm crept into the velvety tones of the second man as he continued, 'although I seem to remember you surpassed them all in terms of ability…..and by that I mean lack thereof….'

'Well, _professor_, you should know by now that my talents lie elsewhere'.

'Really? ….' There had been a challenging tone to the voice, but all further reply had been cut off. Intrigued, Harry watched as half a figure stepped backwards into his line of vision. Black robes came into view, worn by a tall, thin man whose midnight hair fell down to his shoulders. 'Bloody hell, it _is_ Snape!' Harry thought, 'but he's actually washed his hair. Maybe the time turner dust took us to some kind of alternate reality….'

Thoughts along this line ran through his head, as Snape stepped further backwards, revealing that he had the second man entwined in his arms and was kissing him passionately.

An icy chill ran through him as they staggered closer to the sofa and the second man could be seen plainly. The figure on the right was older than he was, but Harry could still make out his own facial features clearly enough, and the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his head served as terrible confirmation. He was kissing Snape! Feeling like he was going to be violently sick, Harry tried to step away from the crack in the door, but bumped into something solid behind him.

'Potter, watch where you're…….' Snape had begun speaking angrily, but his features had frozen in horror when he had caught sight of the two men beyond the office door.

Those inside, having heard the noise, flung open the door with their wands pointed at the opening. The warm light from the office illuminated the strange scene, the four men facing each other through the doorway, each with his wand drawn yet with a different facial expression.

In the tense silence, the future Harry lowered his wand and smiled disarmingly at the two intruders.

'Welcome', he said, 'we've been expecting you'.

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Hi! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**D**isclaimer- the usual.

Chapter 2.

'_We've been expecting you'_

The words echoed through Harry's head as he stood outside the office, motionless with shock. He began to stutter something incoherently, but was interrupted by Snape, whose icy voice cut straight to the heart of the matter.

'I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but reveal who you really are _this instant'_. Snape had his wand pointed at his double's chest, and two pairs of dark eyes were locked on each other. Suspecting that some sort of Occlumency battle was taking place, Harry switched his gaze towards the other man in the room. The older Harry -or whoever he was- was regarding the two potions masters with a tender look on his face. As horrified as the younger was to see himself so fond of Snape, part of him was almost glad that he seemed so happy. Harry also noticed that he seemed to have filled out slightly, adding to his grown-up appearance, as did the clothes he was wearing under his robes- which for once didn't look like Dudley's cast-offs. In fact, if the man in front of him didn't bear a lightening-bolt scar, he would have said that he was somehow facing his father.

Sensing his scrutiny, the older Harry turned towards him, rolled his eyes expressively and said

'They'll be like that for hours if we don't do something.' Smiling, he continued, 'I know this is extremely weird, but I did exactly the same thing a year ago, so I know what you're going through.'

Harry's puzzlement must have been evident on his face, because Snape (the one that actually looked as if he'd washed that morning) turned to him and said exasperatedly,

'Hasn't it sunk in yet, Harry? Surely you didn't think that getting covered in time-turner dust wouldn't have consequences?'

The older Harry grinned and added, 'What Severus is _trying_ to say, is that you've been brought one year forward in time.'

Harry's mind was racing, trying to ignore the strange fact that Snape's double had called him by his first name and weighing the implications of what he had just heard.

'Prove it' he said defiantly, at exactly the same time that Snape said it too.

The older Harry thought for a moment, before replying in Parseltongue-

'You usssed to have a crussssh on Cho Chang, you sstill feel guilty for ssseing sseverusss' memories in the penssieve, and you ssssecretly ressent Ron for going out with Hermione and abandoning you.' The older Harry looked into his younger counterpart's eyes with compassion, remembering well the pain that he had felt when hearing those words a year ago.

The two Snapes had been conversing in low tones, and now one of them looked at Harry questioningly.

'Yeah' muttered Harry, lowering his wand, 'it's me.'

A few moments later they were taken inside the office, two footstools had been transfigured into armchairs that faced the sofa, and the four men were seated with each man facing his double.

'First things first' said the older Snape briskly, 'there are some things we are definitely not allowed to tell you, because while the course of the future is immutable, it can severely damage someone mentally if they know what happens and are unable to change it.'

'That explains Trelawney', intoned the other Snape, and the two exchanged evil grins, compelling the future-Harry to roll his eyes again.

'However', he continued, 'you may still ask us questions, and we will answer you honestly where possible'.

Trying to fight the urge to separate the couple on the sofa, who were sitting far too close for his comfort, the younger Harry blurted out

'Where's Voldemort?'

The older Harry looked intently at his past self, marvelling sadly at how innocent he looked, but made no reply.

'Please', begged Harry desperately, 'you said earlier that you understood how I was feeling. If that's really the case, then tell me what he's doing! I'm sick of all this waiting!'

'Voldemort is no more', came the slow reply. 'I can't tell you how or when, but is it enough to know that the wizarding world is at peace by this point?'

The younger Harry grinned in reply, sinking into the armchair and feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Seeing his time-travelling companion's joyous expression, Snape was astounded, and the bitter thought came to him that he had never seen the boy so happy in his presence before.

An alien emotion had welled up inside of the potions master at the thought of Voldemort's downfall, but he put aside analysing it and instead focused on the troubling matter at hand.

'And just what combination of hallucinogenic potions did you swallow to decide it was a good idea to date Potter?' he spat at the man sitting opposite him.

The younger Harry, in ebullient spirits, couldn't suppress his laughter when his older self made sad puppy faces at Snape in mock offence. He earned himself a harsh glare from his professor in the process, but found himself unable to stop chuckling, particularly when he noted the obvious amusement of the couple on the sofa. He wasn't any happier about their romantic attachment than Snape, but since the news about Voldemort nothing seemed quite so horrendous any more.

'That's one thing we can't tell you about', said the older Snape, his voice much lighter than Harry ever remembered hearing it before.

'It'll be a nice surprise though', jested the future-Harry, grinning from ear to ear and entwining his hand in his partner's.

Harry was looking at the utter contempt evident on the face of the Snape in the armchair to his right when a thought struck him;

'Hey, what am I.. I mean, are you, still doing at Hogwarts?'

'If you had to pick a subject to teach, which one would it be?' came the cryptic reply.

'Erm, Defence against the Dark Arts I suppose', Harry said, the truth slowly dawning on him. 'You mean you're a teacher?'

'He's the boy-who-didn't-need-a-teaching-degree', drawled the older Snape sarcastically, but with fondness in his voice.

'Dumbledore asked me, so I couldn't exactly refuse', added Harry, still smiling.

Harry was on the verge of questioning them further when he was startled by a loud chirping noise that came from behind him. Twisting around abruptly in his chair he saw a lurid red and gold clock attached to the wall: the offensive noise was made by a plastic chaffinch that had apparently been charmed to 'sing' at the arrival of each new hour. The noise increased tenfold as 6 little chicks flew out of the opening and back in again, indicating what time it was.

'One tip for the future, Harry' said the older Severus with a groan. 'When Flitwick gives you a 'welcome to the Hogwarts faculty' gift, for god's sake pretend to like it. He spent _hours_ charming that clock.'

'Yeah, and he pops in occasionally to check up on it', sighed the other Harry. 'We should put in an appearance at dinner', he continued, rising from the sofa. 'We'll be back as soon as possible; will you two be alright if we get the house-elves to bring you some food?'

The younger pair nodded their assent, each unwilling to acknowledge that they might be uncomfortable when left alone with each other, although that was precisely how they felt.

When the future Harry and Snape had left the room, the two men remained seated in silence, both tense and unable to speak. Finally, Snape stood up hastily and walked around the chair to inspect the changes to his office, the rustling of his robes magnified in the silence. The potions master hated to admit it, but the room had been considerably improved, no longer exuding that icy, inhospitable feeling that reflected his professional persona. Turning back to where he had been sitting, he realised with start that Potter had vanished.

As soon as Snape's back was turned, Harry had darted out of the room, needing to be alone. Heading away from the crowded dining hall, he wandered up to the astronomy tower, where he was accustomed to go if ever he needed space to think. Once there, Harry leaned against the wall and looked out into the cloudless twilight. He was still adjusting himself to this weightless, elated feeling, which was akin to what he had experienced when first told that he had a place at Hogwarts and could leave the Dursleys. Harry knew that he would still have to work hard to defeat Voldemort, not trusting what Snape had said about the future being 'immutable', but he realised that he would gladly do it just to experience this wondrous feeling again. The pain of Sirius' death, pressures of being the 'boy-who-lived' and fear that Ron and Hermione were gradually distancing themselves from him all fell away, and he stood contentedly gazing at the outside world.

Gradually, however, the one part of the day that he had been strenuously trying to avoid entered his consciousness. How could he end up going out with Snape? It seemed impossible that he could feel anything other than utter hatred for the man. Immediately, the Slytherin part of his mind began plotting to separate the two as fast as possible; it was either that or lock his professor in one of the dungeons and hope no-one noticed. Harry simply could not comprehend how it was possible for their future selves to look so…..happy with one another. He nearly vomited when he thought that it was possible they could be in love. Anger welled up inside Harry as he contemplated the idea that Snape had somehow tricked him into it, and yet, the couple looked almost.. _right for each other. Surely it wasn't possible that…_

Overwhelmed, and more than a little scared, Harry gave in to his body's reaction and was sick over the balcony.

Meanwhile, Severus Snape had resumed his place in the armchair, refusing to care where the Potter boy had gone. Two plates of steaming food lay on the table behind him, but the potions master had no inclination to eat. Similarly to Harry, a plethora of different concerns preoccupied him. Thinking of the man that he had been forced to admit was his future self, he remembered the changes he had noticed. It was strange to admit it, but the man actually looked much younger than he did, despite the fact that he was a year advanced in age. Was this the effect of being finally free from the Dark Lord's service? Yesterday, he would not have even dared to think of such a thing, but if it were actually possible… Snape felt a recurrence of the unidentified feeling from earlier, and realised with amazement that it was hope. Something that he had not experienced for a very long time.

'Of course', he thought sarcastically, 'this change in my future self could have been wrought by Potter'. He laughed bitterly at this thought. How the hell had the boy managed to trick him into it? Unless it was polyjuice potion, and the real him was locked away somewhere, coerced into giving the impostor information with which to impersonate him. If this was the case, he could probably get the golden boy ejected from Hogwarts: from the teaching position he himself had craved for many years now. At the thought of Potter teaching DADA, Snape's thoughts darkened, and as his anger intensified he felt a burst of power leave him and heard the office window break into thousands of tiny pieces. Unrepentant, but feeling slightly calmer, the professor walked over to the window and repaired it with a flick of his wand.

Running his hands though his long black hair absent-mindedly, he felt contempt as he again contemplated the problem of his and Harry's future relationship. Obviously he would have to find a way to prevent it, there was no way he could ever go out with that over-protected, attention seeking, complete idiot of a boy. The very idea was ludicrous, as was the fact that he was twice Potter's age.

'Besides', an evil little voice whispered in his mind, 'you aren't exactly experienced in these matters, are you, Severus? What would you bring to the relationship, your sense of fun perhaps?' Snape tried to silence the thought, but the voice -which stemmed from a hundred different rejections- persisted. 'How could anyone possibly love _you_?' Snape paced around the office, clenching his fists uselessly. Throughout his life, no-one had ever looked at him in the same way that the future-Harry had. Perhaps, if he were truly loved in the future……

What was he thinking!! This was Harry Bloody Potter he was talking about!! He would have rather been romantically linked to Neville Longbottom!! Angry at letting himself think such foolish thoughts, Snape strode out of the room to find Harry. If he could retain control over the situation he could perhaps prevent this terrible future from ever happening.

It was impossible to cast a locator spell in Hogwarts grounds, thanks to its magical fields, and so it was a very furious Snape who eventually came to the astronomy tower about an hour after he had begun his search. Seeing the root of his problems, Snape spoke to the boy menacingly

'Cowering in remote parts of the castle isn't the best plan of action, Potter.'

'I just came up here to think, do you have a problem with that?' came the angry reply.

'Actually, I do, no-one gave you permission to leave my office. However, I give you credit for endeavouring to think, I know how hard it is for you.'

'Sadistic bastard' Harry muttered. 'I didn't need your permission anyway.'

'I'd give you detention for that language, Mr Potter, but I have no desire to spend any more time with you than strictly necessary.'

'Good. That means I'll be spared the pain of trying not to stare at that peninsula you call a nose.' spat Harry, wanting to be left alone.

'HOW DARE YOU! My nose has more character than both of your two spineless friends put together!'

The blood of both men was at boiling point, and they were only prevented from drawing their wands by the sudden realisation that they were not alone.

Two Ravenclaw students, who had come up to the tower for a late night tryst, were conducting a conversation in frenzied whispers, believing that they had gone unnoticed in the shadows.

'_No, it's definitely professors Potter and Snape.'_

'_Why are they arguing? They always seemed so happy together'._

'_Dunno, but I'm not looking forward to potions lessons if they break up. Remember how horrible Snape was before he and Potter started dating?' _

The whispers continued in this vein, and Harry and Snape stood still, unsure of what to do. 'This is my chance' thought Harry 'if everyone in school thinks we've broken up……'

'_They'll be hurt by the rumours, but they'll still be dating. Admit it, you saw the way they looked at each other' _replied his conscience.

Resentfully realising that he couldn't damage his future self's happiness without proof that he would be better off without Snape (however blindingly obvious it seemed to him) Harry swallowed his pride and slowly walked towards his teacher.

'I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean it, I'm just stressed from teaching' he said, in what he hoped was a penitent voice. Harry's insides were protesting violently, yet he forced himself to keep moving.

'Apology accepted', said Snape softly, having caught onto Harry's plan.

Harry stopped in front of the older man, and -realising that the students could now see his face clearly- with great effort managed to copy the tender expression he had seen on his elder self earlier. This feat was made particularly hard by the fact that Snape, who had his back to the Ravenclaws, maintained his expression of disgust.

'I….I…' Harry stuttered, he _couldn't_ say it, 'I'll make it up to you later' he compromised. Smiling gently, he leaned upwards and brushed Snape's cheek with his lips, before taking him by the hand and leading him out of the astronomy tower, away from the relieved glances of the students.

Outside the tower, Snape yanked his hand from Harry's and shot him a glare that was equally matched by his pupil.

'Hexing those students would have been a lot easier, Mr Potter, not to mention less traumatising', he sneered, before striding down the corridor. Harry sent a disgusted scowl after his professor, before vigorously rubbing his lips -in vain, alas, the deed was done- and following Snape back to the office.

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I'd really appreciate feedback on this because I think I mucked it up. Badly.:( So please, please tell me what you think. Have a good week.


	3. Chapter 3

_**D**isclaimer- the usual. _

_Chapter 3._

_Neither Harry nor Snape slept well that night, for each was intensely preoccupied with the day's events. _

The next morning, Snape awoke reluctantly, wincing as his body reminded him that he had been lying on an unfamiliar bed throughout the night. Mentally cursing his aging bones, he sat up, pushing back the quilt to reveal his favourite black silk pyjamas. If there was one good point about this entire fiasco, he mused, it was that he still had access to all of his clothes. (The fact that the pyjamas hadn't looked as if they'd been worn at all in the past year was a concept that the potions master was still desperately striving to put out of his mind.) Eyes gradually recovering from the fog of sleep, Snape looked around the sitting room and caught sight of Harry's bed, which had been pushed as far away from his own as possible. The boy looked oddly contented in sleep, his face missing the moody frown that he always sported in Snape's presence. Scowling at the fates that had deigned that Harry be the only man whom he had even slept in the same room with for a very long time, he jerked himself out of bed and headed into the bathroom.

Harry Potter awoke to the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut and groaned. For a few brief hours sleep had taken away all recollection of the strange reality he now found himself in. Dragging himself upwards, Harry sat leaning against the wall and surveyed Snape's quarters, running his hand through sleep-mussed hair in vain. He had been surprised to find that his teacher actually lived in normal -and rather tasteful- rooms. The sitting room was decorated in a mellow cream colour, which would have complimented the rich reds of the sofas; if they hadn't been transfigured into beds for the night.

The icy chill of the wall was jolting the nerves on his back unpleasantly, and Harry wrapped the covers around himself to regain their warmth. This action earned him a look of reprove from the newly washed Snape, who had exited the bathroom to find his student ensconced in a purple quilt, only his head sticking out.

'Really, Potter.' said the potions master laconically, 'just because you're at the potions level of a child does not mean that you have to act like one.'

Harry glared at Snape, unfazed by the hostile stare he received in return. A click from the room adjacent to the bathroom caught their attention, and both switched their gaze to the future Harry, who had emerged wearing nothing but his boxers.

'Sleep well?' the older Harry asked with a sheepish grin.

'Not bad', Harry lied, staring in fascination at the silvery scar that ran from the his navel to his hip. 'Where did you get that?'

'You'll find out soon enough' sighed the older man, absent-mindedly running his index finger along it. Brightening, he added 'I'll just be 5 minutes and then we'll sort out breakfast.'

The future Harry bounded into the bathroom, leaving the two men to tidy their bed-things. Harry turned to his bed and began folding his quilt, intrigued as to how his future self obtained the scar. On the other side of the room, Snape was staring at his bed, having forgotten his intention to transfigure it back into a settee. The image of Harry's slender finger trailing across the taut flesh of his stomach replayed itself in his mind, and he stood transfixed in horror as he realised that he had found the young man attractive. The potions master could barely contain the anger at himself that had surged upwards within him; how could he possibly be having these ridiculous thoughts? Not only was Potter a student (or had been) but he was…. well…Potter!

Dismissing the entire train of thought as the product of an over-worked mind, Snape resumed his work, not daring to look up when the semi-naked Harry came out of the bathroom and walked past him to the bedroom.

Not long after this, the future Harry returned to the sitting room -fully dressed this time- and proceeded to help the pair with the tidying.

'I've just given Severus a poke, so he'll be out in a minute', the older Harry explained to the younger, beaming at him over the chaise lounge they were both carrying. The clunk of wood on stone as they set down the object prevented either of them from hearing the choking noise that escaped from Snape at Harry's last statement.

With the room returned to order, the ever-faithful Dobby was summoned to provide breakfast.

'It is so good to see you sirs!', exclaimed Dobby happily. 'Dobby was not believing it when Harry Potter told him that you had come, but now Dobby sees that it is true! He promises he will not tell a soul! Dobby is also pleased to see professor Snape again' he added slightly less exuberantly, remembering his icy reception the night before.

'Hello Dobby', replied Harry, smiling at this unchanged face. 'How are you and Winky these days?'

At this last remark, Dobby's characteristically cheerful face fell, and his large round eyes flickered uncertainly towards the older Harry. 'Master did not….'

'Is there any chance of some breakfast, Dobby?' interjected the latter hastily. 'If it's not too much trouble.'

At this, Dobby seem to recover, and his posture regained some of its rigidity. 'It's never to much trouble for Harry Potter, sir!' he said, and promptly vanished, though with a somehow more dejected 'pop!' than usual.

The youngest man there looked into the eyes of his double searchingly, but was shocked at the lack of emotion he saw. Comprehending that his older self had closed his mind, he was on the verge of questioning him when he became distracted by the arrival of the future-Snape. If Harry had seen many strange things in the past day and a half, the sight of his normally bat-like professor in Muggle clothes out-ranked most of them. It was true that it was a Saturday, but the idea that he owned anything other than 10 pairs of basic black robes had never entered Harry's mind, and he was surprised to discover how much the clothes acted to Snape's advantage. The black trousers and long-sleeved green velvet shirt complimented the man's lithe body perfectly, and still somehow enabled him to retain the air of mystery that he seemed to radiate in class.

Disturbed by the fact that he had spent even a moment contemplating this, Harry was glad to be distracted by the arrival of breakfast. The atmosphere in the sitting room was quiet during the meal, each man busy with his food and his thoughts. Snape had finished first -when one was constantly expecting to be called by the Dark Lord, it was hard to savour food- and was watching the progress of an eddy of dust motes above the future Harry's head, marvelling at the way that ordinary particles of rubbish could be metamorphosed into gold by the morning sunlight. The first speck had nestled itself into the dark mass of the boy's head when he heard a voice to his left

'Dumbledore wants to see you two', said the older Severus seriously, looking from one to the other. 'You can go as soon as you're ready, but take Harry's cloak with you, there are too many students about and you can't be seen.'

At this, the younger Harry stole a guilty glance at his professor, thinking of the previous night, but the other man showed no sign of acknowledgement. As the man told the pair the password to Dumbledore's office, the future Harry retrieved the cloak from the bedroom and handed it to his younger self with a wink.

Five minutes later, Harry was fervently wishing that someone had taught him the invisibility spell, as he stood on Snape's toes for the third time.

'Merlin's beard, Potter! Can't you keep your feet to yourself for two seconds?'

'Sorry, professor', whispered Harry, to intent on reaching Dumbledore and ending his ordeal to be bothered to argue. Snape was entirely too close for comfort, the size of the cloak meaning that Harry could feel the man's body heat from where he was standing, and the sound of his slow, steady breathing was entirely too audible. Worse was yet to come, as a large group of chattering Ravenclaws approached, blocking the entire corridor. Before he could react, Snape had pulled him into an shallow alcove, squashing Harry against him to ensure that they were small enough not to be an obstacle to the girls. The boy would have protested, were it not for the fact that his mouth was pressed against Snape's shoulder, preventing him from voicing any complaint. The two men stood there rigidly while the students passed, hoping that the conversation drowned out the sound of their breathing. The fabric of Snape's robes was coarse, yet warm against Harry's face, and he had no choice to inhale through his nose as best he could, sense of smell overpowered by Snape's heady aniseed aroma every time he did so.

As soon as they were sure that no-one remained in the corridor, both men distanced themselves as far from the other as possible, mutually disgusted by the enforced intimacy. Scowling, they covered the rest of the distance to the office without mishap, and arrived at the entrance.

'Liquorice whip' muttered Snape distastefully, keeping one eye on Potter as he did so. The pair ascended the stairs, casting off the cloak as soon as it was safe, and were greeted at the door by a twinkling Dumbledore.

'My boys', he said warmly, 'so good to see you'. Leading them inside, he gestured to the chairs by his desk as he made himself comfortable behind it.

'Sherbet lemon?'

Both men declined his offer, and so the headmaster reluctantly put the lid back on the silver tin.

'I am sure this has been a great shock to you both, but has it done you some good to see how things have turned out?'

'Headmaster, how could that be the case?' snapped Snape, unable to contain himself. 'I hardly consider this a future to look forward to!'

'You refer, I suppose, to the relationship between yourself and Harry', replied Dumbledore, shaking his head sadly. 'When I think of you two a year ago, how _burdened _you both were, I rejoice at the happiness your future selves have found. The change you have wrought on each other is remarkable.'

'Surely this can be attributed to the defeat of the Dark Lord, rather than to the.. power of love' said Snape, with heavy sarcasm on the last three words.

'I could attempt to explain, but I suspect that I might take all day and you would still not be convinced. However, I am in a comfortable enough position to be able to say that you will understand, given time.' Dumbledore's expression lightened, and he appeared to be about to add something else, but instead glanced at one of the many watches on his wrist.

'Alas, young Percy will be arriving shortly to discuss arrangements for the celebrations we shall soon be holding, and I must therefore be brief. The effects of the time-turner are reversible, and with the right combination of spells and potions we can send you back to the time from which you came. However, Severus informs me that we lack one of the necessary ingredients, which can be obtained from a Blast-ended Skrewt. Fortunately enough, there are still several living wild in the forest, and so it should not be difficult for you two to collect it before the end of the day.'

'Us, professor?' questioned Harry, unhappy at the prospect of spending even more time alone with Snape.

'Yes, all of the staff are currently busy with the preparations', here the headmaster gestured to a substantial pile of paperwork on one end of his desk, 'so I must ask that you do this yourselves. You are more than equal to the task, and as I recall you are not exactly a stranger to the Forbidden Forest, Harry.'

Harry could not help but smile guiltily at Dumbledore, who beamed back at him from behind his beard.

And so it was, that despite an abundance of protests from a fuming Snape, pupil and teacher set out for the forest not long after, maintaining their frosty silence under the cloak. Meanwhile, Dumbledore remained in his office, awaiting Percy and casually sifting through memories in his Pensieve. To his left, on the shelf next to Godric Gryffindor's sword, lay an oval crystal with a small needle inside. The morning light passed through the crystal and glittered oddly on the silver object, making it appear as though it was shivering, almost as if in anticipation….

-

Hi! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated this, I suddenly realised I should actually do some work… Anyway, hope you enjoyed chapter 3, sorry if it's a bit abrupt, but things will pick up from here, I promise! As always, reviews would be very, very much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

'You do realise', snarled Snape, as they marched towards the forbidden forest, 'that you are responsible for this entire fiasco? Or has that idea, like _so_ many others, failed to penetrate your thick skull?' The two men had been walking side by side in silence, but the potion master's impotent fury at their situation had overcome his reluctance to acknowledge the boy's presence.

'I don't think so, Snape', said Harry, between clenched teeth, not taking his gaze from the trees in front of them. 'You were the one who tried to steal the time-turner'.

The older man turned abruptly, the invisibility cloak slipping to the ground as he stopped the younger in his tracks.

'I beg you pardon, Potter, but I will not tolerate such insolence.' He paused to draw in a steadying lungful of air before continuing, his voice made even deeper by anger. 'You will address me as sir, or I'll have you scrubbing cauldrons for a month.'

At this, Harry suppressed a smirk, answering 'sorry to disappoint you, _sir_, but term ends in less time than that.'

Snape gave a sneer in reply, stepping closer to the boy and leaning over to emphasise the difference in height.

'I don't care, Potter, I'll lock you in the dungeons if I feel like it.' His eyes took on an extra glint of malice as he added 'it's not like you have anywhere else to go.'

This barb hit home, and an incensed Harry was on the verge of shouting, or hexing the gut, when the rain began. He felt the first drops land on his head, burying underneath the unkempt hair to prick his scalp like icy needle-points. Harry watched in abstract fascination as a large drop slid smoothly down his professor's forehead, traversed the protuberant nose like a lover, leaving tiny kisses of moisture behind it, and then dripped reluctantly to the turf below.

Under the increasingly heavy downpour, Snape turned and strode away, knowing the boy had no choice but to follow. Harry scooped up the cloak and strolled defiantly behind, looking nonchalantly up at the overcast sky as he did so. By the time he reached the shelter of the trees, Snape had performed a drying spell on himself and was staring impatiently at him, radiating anger. The atmosphere in the forest, Harry noted, was much different to that of the grounds. The pervading smell of wet foliage was fresh and oddly intoxicating, whilst raindrops made everything glisten, lending the place a gentle mysticism which jarred with his previous experiences of the forest. Wanting to annoy his professor as much as possible, he ignored Snape completely , his gaze instead following a trail of ivy winding around the rich bark of a nearby tree. Reaching the top, he marvelled at the roof of leaves above him, dark and light shades of green intertwined, almost malevolently shutting the light out and keeping him in. Eyes adjusted to the gloomy environment, he watched raindrops, made fat by gathering on the leaves above, fall heavily down onto the greasy hair of his teacher.

'So much for the drying spell', Harry thought humorously, realising only too late that he was grinning stupidly at one of the men he hated most in the world.

Seeing his expression, Snape scowled and walked away, hoping that this time the brat would keep up, and resolutely not thinking about how Potter had looked, all wet and innocent, smiling at him. He had succeeded in quashing the strange levity that had arisen in his heart when, to his surprise, the boy appeared at his side.

'I do have somewhere to go', said Harry, bristling at the memory of the man's earlier comment. 'Not that it's any of your business, but I'm staying with Ron until the Order leave Grimmauld Place.' There was an unconscious note of joy in his voice as he contemplated a Dursley-free future.

The darkest side of Snape, the snarling, wounded beast that lived in the corner of his mind, couldn't resist the urge to quash this happiness in his pupil.

'I'm sure Mr Weasley and Miss Granger will be delighted to accommodate you,' drawled the potions master's gravely voice.

Harry coloured and sniped back, his angry voice rising above the beating of the rain on the ground around them.

'At least I have friends to stay with! Is that why you needed the time-turner? So you could actually be liked at school; is that it, Snivellus?' It was a cheap shot, one that he wouldn't have stooped so low as to do if he hadn't be so enraged by what Snape implied. Apparently he had had the same effect on the older man, as for the second time that day he swerved to face Harry, face contorted with fury.

'For your information, Potter, I needed that to try and protect your worthless life!' he spat, eyes flashing dangerously. 'If I could have gone back and prevented my discovery as a traitor by the Dark Lord, I could have aided the Order instead of being assigned to watch over you, forced to be subject to your blithering idiocy more than usual! For the past six months we have been unable to predict what the Dark Lord will do next, and every day of that was spent in despair, knowing that _you_ were supposed to save us all!'

Harry stepped back, away from the man's flailing arms.

'And then,' continued Snape, who had surrendered to his rage, I am deprived of any sense of relief on unexpectedly discovering a Death-Eater free future by the _revelation_ that I am to fall madly in love with Harry-worse than his father-Potter! Who, incidentally, is responsible for this ENTIRE FIASCO!'

This shout seemed to disturb something deep in the forest, and Harry looked on in shock as his professor ended the rant and gasped for breath. Despite every instinct telling him to run away, fast, he had to voice the thought that had occurred to him.

'You were going to change the past? But how could you have done that without being seen by anyone, or harming you future self in the process?' His tone of voice made it plain that this was more out of curiosity than concern.

'I couldn't have, you fool' sighed Snape, his paling face expressing regret. 'I would have had to live the next six months seen by no-one, and with what I hoped to achieve there was no way I would have escaped detection. Moreover, time-travel that far back is extremely inexact, one could end up 5o years back when one aimed for 50 days.'

Harry's mouth opened to speak but Snape pre-empted the question.

'I was desperate, Potter. Something I'm sure you, with your legions of fans, will never understand. I'm useless, I can't help the Order in any real capacity, and scores of letters arrive at the castle every day from idiotic parents who don't want a Death Eater teaching their precious brats.'

Snape seemed exhausted, slumping backwards to lean on the nearest tree, long streaks of wet black hair framing his face as he looked bitterly down at the ground. Harry was stunned at how human the man appeared, and words stuttered out of his mouth before he realised what he was saying.

'I know… I thought I could… when Sirius….' He trailed off, unable to express what he had begun in his empathy. This didn't seem to matter however, as Snape's obsidian eyes looked straight into his, connecting with him for one brief second.

In the next, however, he stood up straight and shook out his sodden robes.

'Of course', he said, face contorted into its customary sneer, 'travelling to the future has proved infinitely worse than that.'

The pair resumed their journey into the heart of the forest, neither speaking to the other. Somewhat ironically, it was this heavy silence that saved them, as both men were able to hear the snapping of twigs that signalled something large moving in their direction. Instantly, they drew their wands and faced in its direction, but neither was truly prepared for the sight that crashed into view.

The last of Hagrid's Blast-Ended-Skrewts, it was more than the hairy giant could have ever envisioned. It had grown to over 30 feet in length, and every move it made shook the nearby forest floor, causing all manner of strange creatures to flee from their hiding places. Torn branches littered its grey armour, over which a giant sting arched, twitching menacingly. Both men were overcome with shock, but realised that due to the speed it had approached there was no hope for them if they ran, and so readied themselves for the fight.

Meanwhile, the future Harry and Severus were happily ensconced in the latter's office, reminiscing about their own experiences in the previous year.

'Well, it was your own fault', chuckled Harry, his head on the older man's lap. 'Besides, its hardly fair for you to scold _me_ for having a temper.' At this, Snape looked disapprovingly down at his lover.

'That's hardly the point. My lack of decorum should not have been an excuse for you, and you _were_ my pupil at the time.' Despite his words, he ruffled Harry's hair fondly, not wanting to admit that one of the things he loved most about the boy was the fire that shone through when he was angry.

'What do you suppose we were doing at this time last year?' mused Harry, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of Severus's clothing. Snape glanced at the clock with a grimace -he could never look at the odious thing with a neutral expression- and replied:

'I think we were being beaten senseless by that hideous beast of Hagrid's. I wonder what ever happened to that thing?'

'What?', cried Harry, jumping to his feet in a panic. 'You were supposed to tell me before that happened! How could you forget?' One glance at the older man's expression told him that he had done no such thing. 'Did you want to get us killed?' questioned Harry in disbelief, feeling somehow betrayed.

'No, we will be there in time', replied Snape softly, retrieving his cloak from its hanger. 'I could not risk us arriving early and changing something by accident.'

'So that's why it took so long for us to be rescued, because you were reluctant to change something?' Harry's voice took on a sharper edge, 'don't you remember the agony we were in, the time it took to heal?'

Snape moved over to where the younger man was standing and took his right hand in his. He moved it to his lips and kissed it softly, then looking into the boy's eyes and replying: 'and don't _you_ remember what happened because of it?'

Seeing the logic of this statement, Harry used the fact that Severus' hand was still in his to pull the man into a quick embrace before running out of the door and towards the forest.

The giant stinger thwacked into the ground beside Harry, and he thanked his Quidditch-honed reflexes for enabling him to roll out of the way in time. To his left, Snape had been knocked against an oak tree, and was struggling to clear his vision of dark spots. The sting came down one more, forcing him to leap out of the way, feeling every bruise on his body as he did so. It felt like they had been fighting the beast for hours, and neither of them had come close to finding a weakness, as the soft underbelly that Harry had exploited during the tri-wizard tournament had been replaced by another growth of armour. The Skrewt charged once more, a deadly thunder of scale and claw, yet to his relief seemed to miss both of them with ease. It was only too late that Harry realised it had actually aimed for a nearby tree, and had succeeded in severing it from its base. An increasingly loud creaking noise gave Harry warning that it was headed towards him, and there was a rushing sound as he threw himself to the ground, followed by a blinding pain in his leg. Unable to move, he feebly lifted his head up from the mud, and cursed the fact that his wand now lay in a puddle out of reach. A few yards away, the exhausted Snape staggered towards him, trying in vain to lift the tree with his depleted magical energy, but eventually collapsing, spent, on the forest floor. Looking beyond the prone figure, Harry saw the Skrewt preparing for its final charge, one that would surely be the end of them both. He began to thrash around madly, unwilling to give up hope of escape, but the excruciating agony from his damaged limb grew to much to bear, and he faded from consciousness. The last thing he remembered was an enormous flash of purple light, that exploded from somewhere behind him to bathe the entire forest in its glow, accompanied by shouting and the undignified squeals of the injured beast.

Sure that the Skrewt would not return, the lovers looked down at their past selves, horrified with the extent of their injuries. Severus grabbed Harry's hand once more, this time to steady him, and they stood pensively for what seemed like an eternity, each flooded with memory. Then, with meticulous care, they gathered up the two unconscious wizards and levitated them to a private room in the infirmary.

For the rest of the day neither Harry nor Severus could refrain from contemplating the battles that the pair in the infirmary still had to fight; against Voldemort, against each other, and against their own natures.

Hi! Sorry this has been so long, but I've had work to do. (sigh) I'm going to try very hard to update this more often. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, not sure I did it particularly well, so please tell me what you think! Also, it's my birthday today, so please please review- they make me so happy! (yes, I know, I need a life..) Have a good week!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer- The usual. :)

Chapter 5

Harry Potter's eyelashes fluttered open, and his mind, though dulled by healing potions, registered the surprising amount of pain caused by this simple action. He stared confusedly up at the familiar whitewashed ceiling, immediately realising that he was in the safe confines of Hogwarts' infirmary. Harry had woken up here many times before, usually with the feeling that all -at least while he was safely ensconced in the crisp linen of the uniform beds- would be well.

This time, however, the root of the problem was lying in the next bed. A cool wave of panic ran through his spine as he remembered all that he had learned in the past two days, and his aching head inexorably turned to gaze at the older man. Snape was lying as if dead, limp hair clinging to the pillow and the oddly serene expression once again gracing his stern features. Harry contemplated the man in dismay, incapable of imagining feeling anything more than cool indifference towards him, let alone love. From the very first moment that the potions master had seen him, there had been nothing but unwarranted insults and a blatant favouritism towards Gryffindor's antagonists. Contrary to these thoughts however, a memory crept unbidden into his brain, and suddenly he was back in the forbidden forest, helplessly pinned to the ground whilst Snape struggled desperately to save him.

An inner voice bit into his confusion,

'_nonsense'_, it spoke deteminedly, '_he's an Order member. You would have done the same for him_._ It doesn't mean he actually likes you. What about all of those times he attacked you in the corridors?'_

This made sense to Harry, and he briefly wondered whether he had been hit by a stray bludger on the quidditch pitch and been subjected to strange nightmares whilst he was unconscious, so unbelievable were the circumstances he found himself in. Unfortunately, at that moment the pain in his leg decided to make its presence known and reality came screaming back. Anxious to examine the damage, Harry levered his torso up slowly with the help of a bruised elbow, stomach muscles protesting. Finally sitting up, the starched sheets rustled as they slid down to pool in his lap, and eyes clouded by sleep were distracted from his leg by a black shape opposite him. Twisting painfully to grab his glasses (the thoughtful Madam Pomfrey always left them in the same place) he put them on, discovering with an inward groan that it was the future-Snape that sat rigidly in one of the hard plastic chairs facing his bed. The man was regarding him with an expression of concern, but made no move to come closer to Harry.

Distressed by the fact that he was outnumbered by Snapes, Harry blearily said the first thing that occured to him. 'Proffesor? Why are you watching me?'

The older man stood up and took a step forward, hovering somewhat awkwardly near the foot of the bed.

'Madam Pomfrey asked me to watch you two, there's been an outbreak of chicken pox and she's rather busy.' He looked down at his long fingers momentarily, before meeting Harry's gaze once again, deep voice speaking more urgently this time.

'How are you feeling?'.

'Erm, not too bad' said Harry, the level of anxiety and something that sounded oddly like guilt in the potions master's voice compelling him to lie. It would have been much more effective, however, if a jolt of pain in his leg hadn't caused him to wince at the same moment that he spoke these words. Seeing the young man's agonised expression, Snape stepped forward again, his alarm showing despite his efforts to control himself.

'Harry?' he questioned softly.

'My...leg' he gasped, gripping the injured area in his anguish.

'The potions must be wearing off', muttered the older man as he strode to the nearby cabinet and grabbed at a small purple bottle. Turning back, he held Harry's chin gently and poured the sour liquid between his soft lips. After a moment, the boy's fevered expression softened and he looked at Snape in gratitude. Gratitude soon turned to horror however, and he jerked his face away from the cold hand.

'Thanks' mumbled Harry, unable to meet the other man's eyes.

'Don't mention it', said Snape in a colder tone, pride slightly hurt by the boy's disgusted reaction. He moved away and resumed his seat, glancing out of the window as he did so.

Harry simply sat there for a while, unsure of how to deal with this Snape, who was at once so similiar and so different to the man he knew.

'Erm', he began, blushing slightly as the man looked at him questioningly. 'Do we have to go back again? To get the ingredient, I mean.'

Inwardly grateful to him for breaking the uneasy silence, Snape replied

'No, that will not be necessary. Your future self and I were able to retrieve it from the wounded beast before it made its escape.'

'Oh, good' said Harry sleepily, before falling gently back onto the pillow as the sedative in the pain-relief potion kicked in. 'You know...'

The older man gazed at him expectantly for a moment before realising that he had fallen asleep. With a tender smile on his face that Harry would have never believed him capable of, the future Snape crossed the room and arranged the covers around the boy, before returning to the chair to await his partner, who would take over the vigil.

A few hours later, the man who lay in the bed next to Harry's awoke, not opening his eyes as he struggled to remember what had happened. Feeling the ache in every part of his body, the first memory that came to Snape was that of lying broken on the turf, a circle of laughing Death Eaters above him while he silently pleaded that Voldemort would have had enough fun for one evening. But later memories flooded back; the Order meeting after his double-agent status had been discovered, lessons in the dungeons, patrolling the corridors checking that... Potter! With sudden clarity, and mounting fury, he recalled the events of the past few days. He snapped his eyes open, discovering simultaneously that he had a large headache and that the cursed Potter was standing by his side.

'Hello', said the future Harry, who had just relieved his lover from duty. 'How are you feeling?' There was concern in the young man's eyes, accompanied by amusement at Snape's incredulous expression.

'I would be feeling considerably better, Mr Potter, if you would kindly stop holding my hand', he hissed through clenched teeth. At this Harry grinned and let go, leaving Snape to flex the apendage irritably, and to tell himself that he emphatically did _not_ miss the comforting warmth of the boy's hand.

'You seem to be recovering nicely', Harry quipped, looking fondly down at his partner's younger self, who refused to dignify that with a response. Making use of the silence, he went to check on his own double, who was sleeping peacefully in the next bed.

'I can't believe how young I was', Harry said in low tones, not wanting to wake the boy up. He scratched his chin, lost in his reverie and unaware that he had forced Snape into reluctantly agreeing that he had indeed matured a great deal in a year. The older man was convincing himself that this made no difference when the future Harry abrubtly turned and spoke to him.

'Thank you. For trying to save him, I mean.' He gestured back at his sleeping double. 'It'll be a while before he's able to say that himself, so... thank you.'

Disconcerted by this display of affection, Snape strove to plant some seed of doubt in the younger man's mind, something that would enable his future self to eventually be free of Potter.

'I only did it because I had to' he sneered, 'I hope you're not imagining that it was through some misplaced sense of _affection_. If Dumbledore didn't constantly breathe down my neck, always anxious for your safety, I would have left you there to die.'

Harry smiled, and was about to make a response when Snape continued.

'I'm not a nice man, Mr Potter. I hope my future self hasn't _lied_ to you. Has he told you, Potter, what he did as a Death Eater? How he _enjoyed_ it? You must be more of an imbecile than I gave you credit for; do you honestly believe that he loves you? You have no idea what he's capable of.'

By the end of this speech, delivered in Snape's most insinuating tones, the smile on the younger man's face had become fixed, and there was an odd look in his eyes. Seeing his fists clenched, the potions master felt an odd twinge of regret, but dismissed it, believing that he had done the right thing. He smirked, confident that he had shocked the younger man into silence, and carelessly examined the cuff of his infirmary-issued nightshirt.

'Yes.'

Snape looked up again, in time to see that Harry was struggling to control his anger.

'I beg your pardon, Potter?'

'Yes', came the snarled response. 'Yes I know what he did, yes I know he loves me, and yes I know what he's capable of. Both good _and_ bad. And I love him for it.'

Harry was shaking slightly, but his eyes never broke away from Snape's, emerald glare boring into the older man's soul. Stunned by the force behind Harry's words, and the power that he sensed crackling from the boy, Snape was lost for words. A sudden spasm in his body forced the potions master into a fit of coughing, and the pain in his body doubled. At this, the younger man's expression shifted from defiance to anxiety, and he rushed over to the same cabinet that his lover had used earlier. Grabbing a similar purple bottle, he dashed back to the bed and tipped it into the older man's mouth between coughs. For all his effort, he was rewarded with a harsh glare and a sarcastic remark from the recovered Snape.

'Are you sure you know what you're doing with that potion?', came the deep voice, slightly hoarse from coughing.

'Well, you taught me', smirked Harry, fluttering his eyelashes.

'Potter, your attempts at humour are pitiful', murmured Snape as he relaxed back into the sheets, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

'Get some rest', replied Harry, anger forgotten. A mischevious look light up his eyes, and he bent over the older man and brushed his lips lightly over the pale forehead, safe in the knowledge that Snape was far to sleepy to hex him.

'Pot-' came the angry remonstration, which would have been far more effective had he not dozed off in the middle of it.

The future-Harry grinned and brushed a stray hair out of Snape's eyes, placing it carefully among the rest of the raven black strands. The-Man-Who-lived made himself comfortable in a nearby chair, musing that sometimes, he loved Severus best when he was asleep.

Hi! Ok, this is just a short chapter, to break up the monotony of doing my history work. (Every time I mean to write 'Spanish', I write 'Snapish'. I'm terrified I'm going to hand in some accidental fanfiction to my teacher!) However, there's more infirmary-related goodness coming soon. :D Thank you som much to everyone who read and or reviewed this story, and I hope you continue to do so!

(In case it wasn't clear in the story, by the way, Harry wakes up when the future Severus is watching over them, and Severus wakes up when the future Harry is watching over them. I was kind of going for a mirror thing, but I think I had a bit of name related trouble. Anyway, there'll be _a lot _more normal Severus- normal Harry interaction in the next chapter. It'll be interesting, I promise.)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

In one of the Infirmary's small private rooms, two men were becoming increasingly worried. On the face of the oldest man, whose jet black hair clung to a face made sweaty by restless sleep, a vein was throbbing determinedly, disturbing the sallow skin. The youngest, sitting stiffly in the other bed, showed his anxiety by toying with the soft fabric of his sheets, pleading eyes fixed on the person in front of him. This person, standing at the end of the two beds, was hastily constructing the day's lesson plans in his mind (mostly exam revision) as he continued his speech.

'Severus and I will check on you when we finish teaching, but you two have the whole day to rest in the meantime. There are magazines on the table here, if you get bored', said Defence against the Dark Arts professor Harry, desperately trying not to laugh at the horrified look on the faces of the two patients.

Snape, whose day had gone downhill from the moment he realised he was allowed to eat nothing but lukewarm porridge for breakfast, snapped

'You cannot seriously be suggesting that I spend the entire day incarcerated with nothing but Potter and battered editions of _the Quibbler.' _His voice was heavy with distain. Harry, by now impervious to Snape's less amicable moods, retorted

'Honestly, Severus, just because they wrote that article about you being the head vampire of the Black Fang clan. You should give them a chance.' He grinned as shock and irritation flared up in the older man's eyes- there had been no such article, but it was too much fun to resist needling Snape.

Putting aside a litany of acerbic comments, Snape concentrated on his top priority: escape.

'I am sufficiently recovered now, so I see no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to return to my chambers.' _And be free of Potter, _he added silently.

'Sorry, Severus, Poppy's orders.' Harry shifted the newspaper he was holding to his other hand in order to pull out his wand, adding, 'and I'm locking you in, just in case. You'll be able to get out in an emergency, but you shouldn't be walking any further than the bathroom, or you'll make your injuries worse.'

Snape looked at the bathroom door, one metre from his bed, and bristled with anger. He turned his attention back to the future Harry, who wished them a good day and left for his first lesson. Hearing the young man put a spell on the door, the potions master cursed under his breath and lay back, preparing himself for a fruitful day of staring at the ceiling.

The other Harry however, who had been rendered mute by the thought of spending an entire day with Snape, snuggled under the warm covers and attempted to go back to sleep. Twenty minutes of restless fidgeting proved that this would not be an option, and, yawning with boredom, he grabbed his wand, muttering '_accio magazines'. _

The potions master, who had succeeded in entering some sort of semi-conscious state where the boy's constant movements no longer annoyed him, was startled out of it by a loud rustling _thwack_ that originated from the bed opposite. Turning his head sharply, Snape's anger dissipated as he saw that a dozen magazines had struck Potter at the same time, making it appear as though the boy had been bizarrely gift-wrapped. Turning his head to the ceiling once more, the older man fought the bubbles of laughter that floated upwards through his body, creating an oddly light sensation within him. Struggling in vain, Snape only saved his dignity by turning a full-blown laugh into a malicious chuckle.

Scraping his assailants into a mound of paper at his lap, Harry reddened at this mockery and resolutely kept his gaze on what was in front of him. Leafing through the magazines, he was disappointed not to find a newspaper among them, as his curiosity had been piqued by the headline on the one his future self had carried- 'WIZARDING WORLD PREPARES FOR FRIDAY'S CELEBRATIONS'.

His demeanour brightened, however, as he found a quidditch periodical, and was soon eagerly skimming through, looking for information to give to Ron on his return to the past. Harry felt a sudden stab of loneliness as he realised how much he missed his friends; the fact that he was temporarily living in a world without Voldemort was overshadowed by the fact that he only had _Snape_ for company.

Several hours later, the boy had read everything cover to cover, and resorted to attempting one of the Quibbler's crosswords. Harry felt quite proud of himself; he had solved all but one of the clues, which was impressive as the Quibbler's crossword was notoriously difficult, mainly because they saw the world so differently to the rest of the wizarding community. The page was covered in half-words and doodles where he had tried out different answers to the final problem, but in vain. It seemed like a fairly straightforward question (unlike 7 down: 'property of Honeyduke's chocolate'. This, according to the magazine staff (and Luna) was 'hallucinogenic'. Harry had vivid memories of his friend attempting to uncover the 'Honeydukes scam' in his sixth year), but he had no idea what the answer was. He tapped the quill against the paper in frustration, bothered by the four empty spaces in the grid. Slowly, he glanced towards Snape, who seemed frozen in place. He was loath to disturb the man; he had managed to survive nearly an entire morning trapped in the same room as him, and didn't want to push his luck. However, the urge to finish the crossword was overwhelming, and he was certain that the potions professor would know the answer. Finally giving in to the compulsion to scratch his mental itch, Harry spoke, his voice disturbing the icy silence.

'Um, Sir? Can I ask you a question?'

Eyes still fixed upon the ceiling, Snape responded with a surprisingly even

'Yes'.

'Well, um, I'm doing this crossword, and-'

'Potter, what are you doing?', interrupted the older man's low tones.

'Er, asking you a question?'

'Did I give you permission to do so?'

'Um, yes.' Harry began to wonder whether Snape had injured his head in the forest.

'I most certainly did not.'

'But.. but I asked if I could ask you a question, and you said yes.'

'Precisely. I agreed that you were capable of asking a question, but I never gave you leave to actually do so.'

'What?'

'Articulate as always. There is a fundamental difference between the words 'can' and 'may', Mr Potter. Although, based on your academic progress to date, you never had more than a rudimentary grasp of the English language.'

Coming close to snapping the biro he was holding, Harry fought to control his anger.

'_May_ I ask you a question, sir?' he ground out through gritted teeth.

'No', replied Snape, a smirk gracing his angular features.

Furious, Harry contemplated the possibilities of hexing the man, but settled for tucking his knees under his chin and resolving to ignore Snape for the rest of eternity. He continued his frosty silence all throughout lunch, which consisted of hot tomato soup and thick, fluffy rolls spread with creamy butter. Even after the meal, the young man kept his gaze buried in one of the quidditch magazines, re-reading an article on the Chudley Cannons.

It was perhaps fortunate that he did so, for he certainly would not have welcomed the occasional glances sent his way by the potions master. Snape, wanting merely to check that the boy was still breathing, had become fixated by a golden smear of butter on the corner of the boy's mouth. The smudge lay just to the side of Harry's full, red bottom lip, and the potions master felt the overwhelming desire to wipe it off, to feel the boy's soft skin under the rough pad of his thumb... Mentally shaking himself, Snape was disgusted by the direction of his thoughts. Looking over once more to confirm the boy's unattractiveness, he was just in time to catch the boy's tongue snaking out of his mouth and languorously removing the stain. Grimacing, the older man looked away and blocked the image from his mind.

What seemed an eternity later, just when Harry was contemplating the possibiltiy that the stifling boredom would drive him insane, the sound of Quidditch practise drifted into the room. The faint noise of the bludgers hitting wooden bats, accompanied by the happy shouts of the players, stirred new life into him, and he looked eagerly out of the window. The pitch was barely visible from where he was sitting, but with a little awkward manoevering Harry managed to stand on his bed and angle himself to be able to see the entire field. He was so absorbed in watching the tiny figures blur from hoop to hoop that he failed to notice the warning twinges in his leg. Soon however, the pressure of standing for so long took its toll on the injured flesh, and the limb gave way under the tension. Caught off guard, Harry lost his balance and lurched forward off the bed, closing his eyes in panic as the ground rushed forward.

Coming to a sudden, but surprisingly soft, halt, Harry gingerly opened his eyes. And looked straight into those of Snape. Seeing the boy fall, the older man's reactions had taken over and he had sprung from his bed to catch him. He now had the boy in his arms, holding him a foot above the floor and pressed close against his chest. As his startled obsidian eyes gazed into similarly shocked green ones, Snape was acutely aware of the warmth of Potter's firm torso, the pale pink flush of his cheeks and the fact that the younger man's arms were wrapped tightly around him. _At this distance, it was hard not to admit that the boy was passably attractive_. Caught in the same bewildered state, Harry looked down into the face of his professor, taking in the same unguarded expression that he had seen on their trip into the forest. Unconsciously, he relaxed into the other man's strong grip and squeezed his own a little tighter.

Something clicked in both their minds, and Snape dropped the boy back onto the bed, his heart giving an odd jolt as he did so. As it sunk in how close he had been to his greasy potions master, Harry's blush deepened and he was unable to look at the man who had caught him.

'Thanks', he mumbled in Snape's direction, who was also having trouble lifting his gaze from the floor.

'Don't mention it', came the icy reply, as the professor remembered himself and headed back to his own bed. Reaching it, however, he paused and looked awkwardly back at the boy, who was sitting where he he had been dropped on the bed.

'What was the question?', he asked brusquely. Harry paused, looking at him in confusion.

'Wha.. oh!' The boy scrabbled amonst the magazines until he found the Quibbler, flicking it to the much abused page. 'Er, "The effect of the 'libidinosus potion'", four letters.'

Snape stiffened, wondering why he was suddenly embarrased to explain it to the boy.

'That potion, Potter, is a form of dark magic. It was banned by the ministry in 1616, not least because it uses several ingredients from endangered species.' A small pause followed. 'The principle effect is lust. An all consuming desire that binds a person to someone's will, creating slaves of them.' Harry momentarily looked similarly discomforted, but then smiled as he completed the crossword. Looking up again, he said

'Thank you, Sir.'

'Shut up, Potter', came the reply, as Snape lay back on his bed and once more contemplated the ceiling.

Hi. Sorry it's been so long. I really did think I'd get time to write before now. Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, you are all very, very nice people. A quick note about the can/may pedantry of Snape's in this chapter. I was convincedthat the words did have adifference until someone tried to argue otherwise, so if I'm wrong I apologise, but this is what I was taught.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Joey, for making me write faster. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

Cold, gray light slithered in through the window, bathing the infirmary in its frigid dullness. No one had informed the British weather that it was supposed to be summer time, and heavy clouds hung obstinately overhead. Harry looked outside absent-mindedly, breath fogging the glass as he stared at the Quidditch pitch, turning over the events of the past few days in his mind. It depressed the boy intensely that the majority of his recent memories consisted of pain, confusion, and Snape. He sensed that the brief flicker of relief kindled by the news of Voldemort's defeat should have blossomed into a roaring fire, but all happiness had been strangled by the news of his future relationship. Harry could not comprehend how he could choose to enter into something that he instinctively knew was wrong; he and Snape had never had a civilised conversation, let alone anything resembling a 'relationship'.

The young man was not particularly perturbed by the fact that his future self was in love with someone of the same gender, having long ago acknowledged the fact that he was attracted to both sexes. He vividly remembered the day he had told this to Ron and Hermione: stomach twisting in a knot, voice unsteady, heart sinking as he wondered if the information would lose him his two best friends. Thinking that there was something to make him different from everyone else- yet again. Then the complete shock that they not only accepted him completely, but had already guessed! He felt incredibly lucky to have such good friends, even if they did prefer each other's company to his these days.

No, what disturbed him was the fact that his future self was in love with a sadistic, greasy, heartless, arrogant, pedantic bastard of a man, whose hatred for Harry was only matched by Harry's hatred for him. Snape might have a few good qualities; the man had become a spy for Dumbledore, saved Harry's life a few times, held him close... The young man's mind ground to a halt, and he forcibly erased this last thought from his brain. 'Snape can try anything he likes, but there's no way he'll make me fall in love with him'. There was a pause in Harry's thought. 'Or should that be 'Snape _may_ try...'

Harry was in the middle of contemplating this when there was an odd metallic click behind him. Whirling round, he was greeted by the malevolent sneer of his professor.

'Paranoid, Potter?'

'Yeah' he said, anger lending his eyes a flinty edge. 'But it's hard not to be when I'm sharing a room with someone so untrustworthy.'

A low growl escaped from Snape's thin lips, and the sallow skin of his high cheekbones was marked by two blotches of pink. He took one step towards the boy, using his height to loom over him in his most intimidating manner. The older man's thin, black-clad form gave the impression of a very sharp, angry knife that had been singed in the fire.

'Mr Potter, you should be happy that anyone _does_ share a room with you. You haven't exactly been the safest person to be around recently, have you?'

The deep, insinuating tones echoed faintly around the room after the man had finished speaking. Ever since the incident the day before, the atmosphere between the men had been distinctly frosty, but now it was nothing short of glacial. Burning rage and indignation surged upwards inside of Harry's (now fully healed) body, desperately seeking an outlet. Added to this, however, was the guilt that sliced through him, making his limbs tremble as he glared defiantly at Snape.

'AT LEAST I DON"T CHANGE SIDES EVERY TWO SECONDS!'

'_Some_ of us are humble enough to admit our own mistakes. You're just as arrogant as your father, and that is quite the achievement.' The potions master's long face was impassive, but his heaving chest and clenched hands gave away his emotion.

'I wouldn't talk about my dad like that, you hypocrite, _your_ father didn't exactly look perfect!' Harry vividly remembered the few times he had been able to break through Snape's defences in Occlumency.

'You know nothing about my father, you egotistical little brat' spat Snape, 'I suggest you stick to topics in which you actually posses some knowledge. Such as..' There was a long pause. 'Well, I don't have all day to spend in such a fruitless search.'

'For the last time, Snape, YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME!'

'For the last time, Mr Potter', whispered Snape, his face inches away from Harry's, 'it's Professor Snape to you.'

Silence fell heavily between the two men. Once again, they were close enough to feel the other's body heat disturbing the air around them, and Harry tried not to wince as the potions master's warm, angry breath gently assaulted his face. Snape looked into the boy's bright green eyes, seeing only determination and loathing there. He watched his strawberry-red lips move over the harsh words the boy was speaking:

'When we get back, I will _never_ speak to you again. I don't care about missing potions lessons, and I'm sure you'll be glad to get rid of me. I despise you too much for this...future... to ever happen'.

The boy's voice was laced with a bitterness not found in many his age, and a very small part of Snape shattered as the full force of the boy's hatred hit him. Used to being avoided, derided and reviled, the potions master faintly wondered how it was that this time someone should be able to penetrate his armour. Maintaining his sneer, he stepped back slightly, intoning

'That is the first sensible thing I have ever heard you say, Mr Potter. We have an agreement.'

With that, the older man whirled past him, picking up the invisibility cloak that Harry's future self had left on the table. He stood by the doorway, silently waiting for the boy to join him.

The boy in question took one last, wistful look out of the window, wishing that he could grab his Firebolt and feel the exhilarating freedom of flight, instead of being forced to take another uncomfortable trip to Dumbledore's office under the cloak. Without a word, he joined the odious man on the threshold, fervently hoping that it would all be over quickly, and he would be free of Snape forever.

Hi! Hope youlike this chapter. I'll try to update quickly, I have a real urge to finish this. (It'll be a happy ending, I promise!) Also, the rating has gone up simply for the one use of bad language in this chapter. Better to be safe than sorry. Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews this, I hope you're enjoying it so far:)

(P.S. Sorry to anyone who looks for a new chapter of the story and it doesn't come up on the chapter menu. I'm not really sure why it does this...)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

Harry looked around Dumbledore's office, noting lazily how much more_ circular _it seemed with all of the furniture removed. It had also lost the essence of the unpredictable, seemingly omniscient man; without the bizarre objects, stacks of parchment and dishes of miscellaneous sweets the room felt unbearably empty. Even Fawkes was missing, away on some task that Dumbledore refused to comment on. The younger man was glad that the removal was only in order to create enough space for the spells on Snape and himself to be cast: it provided him with an unsettling vision of the emptiness that would ensue from his losing to Voldemort.

He had been standing in the same spot for nearly fifteen minutes, idly scuffing his toes against a crack in the uneven stone floor, whilst his hated potions master went over the details of their return to the past with the headmaster. All of the ancient portraits on the oak paneled walls scrutinized the scene, and Harry swapped gazes with them periodically. There was one in particular, an old, tawny haired man peering out of an ornate maple frame, who seemed to be beaming at him encouragingly. Seeing the portrait beckon to him, Harry slowly wandered over, ending up next to the long shelf in front of which Dumbledore's desk normally stood.

The portrait lowered his grizzled head to the corner of the frame, and with a mischievous grin tapped his nose with a bony finger, opening his mouth to whisper something to the boy. Unfortunately, the ever-suspicious eye of Snape had followed Harry's movements and was sure that he was up to no good.

'Potter! Come back here!'

Unprepared for this angry shout, the younger man jumped in alarm, causing him to knock into the shelf on his left. Harry watched in horror as the sword of Godric Gryffindor was jolted over the edge, and dived forwards, landing hard on the unforgiving stone floor with the weapon safe in his hands. The young man grinned apologetically at Dumbledore, oblivious to the fact that an oval chunk of crystal was still rolling languidly off the shelf. Hearing the icy crackle of shattered glass behind him Harry winced, laying down the sword gently and swiveling around on his stomach to find the origin of the noise. Glittering shards of crystal lay before him, and he hastily swept them up into his hands, standing up unsteadily and walking over to the headmaster.

'Sir, I'm so sorry', said Harry penitently, feeling the pain in his legs and stomach from his fall.

'Don't worry about it, my boy', replied Dumbledore, inspecting the fragments in the younger man's outstretched hands. 'The glass was worthless. This, however', he continued, plucking out a strange silvery needle, 'is rather valuable. It used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and I believe she was rather fond of it. I would like you to have it, Harry.'

Harry vanished the glass he was still holding with his wand, before taking the proffered needle bemusedly.

'Thank you, sir', he replied slowly, 'but..'

'The fact that you are not in Hufflepuff is immaterial, Helga believed in giving aid to whoever needed it most, regardless of where they came from.'

Harry paused, having been actually about to protest that he wasn't a girl, and so would have no use for it. He was glad he had not been given the opportunity to voice his thoughts, however, as Dumbledore continued.

'You should never judge something by its appearance, Harry. You will all too often be proved wrong.'

Harry stood still, looking at the object in his hands thoughtfully, he could think of no other use for it, but, not wanting to appear stupid or ungrateful, slipped the needle into his pocket and smiled back at the headmaster, not seeing the disapproving look he had earned from the potions master. At that moment, a soft knock echoed into the room, and the heavy door of the office swung open, revealing the future Harry and Snape standing there.

'Sorry to interrupt, Albus, but we just came to say goodbye', said the oldest Harry, beaming. The younger Snape's lip curled at the man's countenance; Harry was still unused to calling the headmaster by his first name, and couldn't help being overwhelmingly enthusiastic every time he did so, like a small child playing with a new toy. To the bitter potions master however, small children were anathema, and it took a long time for his sneer to fade.

'Don't mind me', twinkled Dumbledore, 'I'll just be checking on these potions'. The old man moved over to a far side of the room, and proceeded ostentatiously checking the vials of potion that lay on the floor, holding them up against the light and polishing them on his purple velvet robes. The future Harry fought to suppress a grin as both potions masters regarded the headmaster with a worried frown, clearly worried for the safety of the brew.

'Anyway', he said abruptly, pulling everyone's attention back towards him. 'Like I said, we just want to say goodbye, and give you some last-minute advice. The time ahead of you won't be easy' –here he was interrupted by a derisive snort from his partner- 'but trust us when we say you'll survive. Harry, come over here for a second will you?' He gestured to a space slightly aside from where they were standing. Making sure that they could not be heard by the other two, who were now also engaged in a private discussion, the future Harry bent down ever so slightly and whispered into his younger self's ear. Listening intently, the boy grew more and more confused by what he was hearing, and gazed over to where the other two men stood as if to make sense of it. The latter were standing so that the younger Snape had his back to them- half obscuring the front of his older self, who seemed to be showing him something. Harry could not help but compare the two men, so advantageously were they placed next to each other. Although they wore the same clothes, and had the same essential features, the subtle differences about them added up to a startling contrast. The younger Snape seemed very tense, the outline under his robes was all edges, whereas his future self had a much more relaxed stance. This difference also extended up to the men's faces; one was sallow and drawn, the other more open and friendly. Well, very slightly more, anyway. The hooked nose had stayed the same, though, even if the older man's did seem slightly less intimidating when framed by his distinctly not-greasy hair.

Dumbledore's voice penetrated Harry's thoughts, causing the boy to start in alarm, falling forwards into his future self. Mentally cursing the fact that this was the second time he had been so clumsy in less than twenty minutes, Harry desperately tried to right himself, somehow getting more entangled in the process. The other three looked on in amusement as the two men finally extricated themselves, blushing when they discovered that they had an audience. Privately, the thoughts of the two Snapes were remarkably similar; that both Harrys had looked remarkably becoming in their tangle of limbs, mussed raven hair, startled green eyes and red-tinged cheeks. Of course, the likely-hood of either of the men voicing their thoughts was about as remote as Filch ever swapping his manacles for daisy-chains.

'If you are quite finished, gentlemen, I was merely remarking that we only have a limited time before these potions expire', said Dumbledore.

At this, the older two men said their final goodbyes, and -taking a fond look at the pair they left behind- exited the office.

Turning to the two that remained, the headmaster offered them each one of the thin vials of potion. Harry turned his over in his hands, admiring the ornate spirals of gold filament that twisted around the sides of the bottle. Glancing at Snape's, he saw that his decoration was a dull silver.

Dumbledore looked down on the pair, smiling at them kindly and noting the grave expressions on both their faces. Inwardly he rejoiced that they would one day enter into a loving and happy relationship with each other, that neither of the men had had the privilege to feel before.

'Are you ready to begin?'

Both Harry and Snape nodded their assent, waiting for the signal. Once Dumbledore had raised his pale hands to the ceiling, the two younger men drained their respective vials, each chocking slightly at the strange taste. Harry ran his tongue around his mouth pensively; it tasted like... _memories_. Before he had had time to contemplate what a strange thought this was, Dumbledore threw a handful of time-tuner dust into the air above them, creating an all-too familiar cloud. The golden specks danced in the light, making everything appear out of focus. Through the muffling effect of the dizziness that ensued, Harry heard the headmaster's voice, evenly chanting the final requirements of the magic.

'Redio te ad locum tempestivum advenium. Redio te ad locum tempestivum advenium. Redio te ad locum tempestivum advenium.'

The sound blurred into one low drone, fading into the background along with everything but the dancing motes of dust in front of him. Gradually, even these melted into the silky blackness, as his eyelids lost the battle against an intoxicating tiredness that enveloped him. In the darkness, Harry felt that his whole body was floating, swaying in the temporal currents of the universe, pulled about by every eddy and current.

All of a sudden, there came a blinding sense of the familiar, and it felt as though every atom in his body was pulled towards it with one gigantic tug. Feeling firm ground under his feet, he let his eyes remain shut for a few more seconds, blissfully relishing this warm, safe, relaxed feeling.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore stopped his chant and slowly lowered his aching arms. Rubbing them gently, he surveyed the spot where the pair had once been with satisfaction. Vanishing the last of the dust and broken vials with a wave of his hand, he whispered 'good luck my boys', into the distance.

Severus Snape opened his eyes slowly, looking blurrily at the man standing before him. There were gold specks in his tousled hair, and on the black eyelashes that rested serenely against rosy skin. Snape felt a very warm, peaceful feeling looking at the man, as well as the odd sensation that he was perfectly safe. He could not seem to remember what his relationship was to this person, but surely with this feeling, this proximity to the man, they might be lovers? Snape wondered briefly if he should wake the stranger up with a kiss on those red, inviting lips. Leaning in slightly in his indecision, he was startled by the eyelids fluttering open to reveal pools of purest emerald. Something about the colour stirred a memory in his mind, and suddenly cold, harsh reality barged its way past the effect of the spells. This was _Potter_. Those were Potter's lips, which had certainly _not_ been meditating on a few moments before. And he was Severus Snape: a wave of angry bitterness assured him of this fact, and the one thing that Severus Snape _could_ do, was frighten away students.

Harry's vision, momentarily clouded, opened upon the midnight sky. Or so his confused brain thought, until he widened his focus and realised that he was staring into Snape's eyes through a residual cloud of time-turner dust. For a brief second he saw the calm look on the man's face and almost smiled, but then blanched as the same countenance turned stony. Knowing that a storm was coming, Harry quickly scanned the room, checking that he was in the right time before it broke. There were the slimy things in jars, there was the board written with instructions from his last lesson, and here was the last of the time-turner dust, settling gently on Snape's dark hair and robes. They had successfully returned.

'Mr Potter', growled Snape, sounding like the first rumble of thunder. 'You remember our agreement?' Harry nodded mutely. 'Then I never want to see your loathsome face ever again. Go.'

Needing no further bidding, Harry grabbed his bag and headed swiftly to the door. For some reason, on reaching the imposing entrance to the classroom, possessed by an Orphic impulse, he looked back, catching Snape's gaze. For a long moment, nothing was said between the two, and if Harry had been more observant he would have perceived a strange look in the potions master's eyes. It soon faded, however, and Snape opened his mouth to yell at the boy. As it happened, Harry had fled through the door before the eardrum-shattering 'GET OUT!' could reach him.

Stopping short in the corridor, Harry lent against the wall, panting and disorientated. It took him several minutes to recover himself, relishing the feel of the cold stone against his forehead. He thought he had recovered his self-possession when two blurs appeared on his right.

'Harry!' exclaimed Hermione breathlessly, 'I thought you were going to catch us up! We were practically in the Dining Hall before we realised you weren't there! We ran all the way back.' She paused. 'So what did Snape want, anyway?'

Harry, momentarily stunned by this rush of words, took a moment to go over the facts. It was Friday, it was just before dinner, and his friends believed he had been with Snape for five minutes. As opposed to five days.

'N..n..nothing', he stuttered. 'Just the usual rant. I think he's angry because it's nearly the end of term, and he won't have students to bully any more.'

'Yeah', said Ron, his eyes going wide. 'Only a few more lessons and then we'll never have to see the greasy git again! I wish we could get some payback before then though. Like if we-'

'Ron, if this is about turning him into a ferret and bouncing him around the dungeons...' interrupted Hermione sternly, noticing the wistful look on her boyfriend's face. Harry let the pair continue, for once content to fade into the background with his thoughts. Unlike Ron, he would never see Snape again, except at a very long distance at mealtimes, perhaps. He should have been elated, but instead he was just confused, which was beginning to feel like the only emotion he was capable of.

He maintained his silence throughout dinner, and his friends, rejoicing in the prospect of a weekend free from work, chose to let him be. After the turmoil of the past few years, they knew when to leave Harry to think. And think he did, interspersed with glances at the teacher's table, checking for the absent Snape. Escaping as soon as he could, he feigned a headache and meandered slowly back to Gryffindor tower. Arriving back in his dormitory, he sank gratefully down onto his soft bed, letting his tense muscles be soothed by the comfy bedding. Harry drew the curtains magically and relaxed into the familiar surroundings, stretching his aching arms and legs out to occupy the entire width of the bed. After days in the infirmary, his fluffy feather pillow seemed divine, and he almost felt as if he were floating again. Letting his mind wander, memories flashed before his mind, and he was simply too tired to asses them all properly.

That was, until one in particular floated in front of him. He was sitting in a bed, listening to Snape complain and being distracted by something his future self held. Concentrating hard, Harry saw the outline of the Daily Prophet form in his mind, but he couldn't make out the headline. The tired young man racked his brains for the answer, knowing instinctively that it was important. It was something about wizards; well, that was no use. Something about a-

The headline suddenly formed, crystal clear, in front of Harry's eyes: 'WIZARDING WORLD PREPARES FOR FRIDAY'S CELEBRATIONS'. The enormity of the realisation sent a chill running down his spine, giving him the impetus he needed to propel himself off the bed and out of the door.

A few scattered students in the hallways, particularly those coming out of dinner late, were treated to the not unusual spectacle of Harry Potter running past with an expression of grim determination planted firmly on his face. Skidding to a halt in front of Dumbledore's office, he muttered the password and sprinted up the spiral staircase. The door swung ponderously open as he neared it, and, almost falling through, he stopped just in front of the headmaster's desk. Harry took a step back, stunned by the contrast to the office he had seen only a few hours before, and his silence was observed by the amused but severely tired man before him.

'Harry?' ventured Dumbledore slowly.

Harry looked at him wildly for a second, one hand automatically going for his wand. Stopping mid-action, he chose to run his hand through his hair instead, trying to force his tongue to spit out the words.

'Sir!' he began abruptly, 'Voldemort's going to attack on Friday!'

> > > > > > >

Hi! Once again, an apology for taking so long to update. I've been doing exams though, so I feel I have a good excuse! Actually, blame the exams if this chapter seems a little clunky (or bad, or terrible...), because I wrote it in between revising. Also, the latin is not accurate! (On purpose, it just sounds nice.) Thank you for all the reviews, particularly 'Tonitrus', who asked if I should put more background description into the story. The weird thing is, in other (non fanifiction) stories I've written I'm a lot more descriptive, which leads me to two conclusions. Firstly, because I didn't invent Harry Potter I'm scared of describing the scenery too much in case I get it wrong, because I can't remember what most of it looks like. (The characters are different, because they get described more). Secondly,an overload ofschoolwork has made me lazy, so I don't put much effort into looking things up. However, I think you're right, and (starting from the next chapter) I'm going to try to put more in.

I'd really appreciate some feedback on this chapter too, if people have the time. Thank you:)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

Candlelight flickered, casting sepulchral shadows on the damp stones of the dungeons. It looked as if the shades of past students haunted the walls, longing for revenge; and as the neglected candle burnt down to its stump, they closed in on the lone figure sitting in the middle of the room. Snape, however, was oblivious to this, as he was to the rest of the scenery, and to the fact that the hard wooden chair he was sitting on dug painfully into his back. He moved his gaze periodically, now staring distractedly at a particularly fine basilisk tooth in a poison-proof jar, now at the pile of worthless essays that littered his desk. His face appeared fatigued and brooding, and there was the slightest hint of a tear tract on his skin, but it could have just as easily been a trick of the rapidly diminishing light.

Until just over an hour ago, Snape had been caught between conflicting time-periods, trapped between what he knew was real and what he saw in front of him. Now, however, he was embroiled in a far more terrible conflict: one between his head and his heart. He wished he could revert to utter bemusement and disgust at the idea that he could have fallen for Potter, instead of this creeping comprehension, this strange feeling that had twisted itself around his heart like poison ivy. Every so often -when he thought of the boy- he could feel the ivy squeezing harder and harder, till his heart beat violently in protest.

The rational part of the potions master, that part trusted above all else, insisted that this was just a product of the last few days; like all mere mortals he had seen the will of the gods and was subconsciously rushing to obey, lest he suffer their wrath. _This_ was surely the reason for the confusion within him- it came from the effort that his logical side had to exert in resisting the urge to conform to what he had seen. If there was one aspect of his character Snape hated, it was his cowardice in the face of greater power- first with the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore. This time he was resolved; fate would not get the better of him. He would rather die first.

Yet, if he truly was so prepared to die, why this flutter in his chest at the thought of never seeing Potter again? This longing for the boy to look at him the way he had merely pretended to that night in the astronomy tower- with a countenance full of love. It was a way that no one else had ever looked at him before, and if it had been any other person, he suspected he wouldn't have wanted them to. Why, also, this secret glee that Potter could stand up to him, with the fiery resistance that betokened so many good qualities as well as bad?

He pictured Potter standing in front of him, an apparition standing noiselessly on the cold grey floor, looming over the student desk Snape was sitting at, as if _he_ were going to teach the class. The potions master's fingers scraped across the rough wood of the desk, sinking and rising out of burn marks as he tried hard to remember how much he loathed the boy. Something was deeply wrong, however. Firstly, in his imagining, he could not dispel from around Potter a bright light that seemed to illuminate the classroom, despite the fact that it was not real. This imaginary glow reflected off the jars on the deep shelves to his sides, and perfectly lit up the front of the classroom, where lay the white-smeared blackboard with its set of instructions- written merely a few hours earlier. Even behind him, Snape knew, would be a row of student desks bathed in an ethereal luminescence, making the gleam of polished brown wood contrast with the dull coloured environment.

Secondly, however much he tried to see his hated student, all he saw was the young man who was more than passably attractive. The boy was blessed with a startling combination of features that, while not being conventionally beautiful, had become increasingly appealing under scrutiny. Thank Merlin the boy had no recognisable intelligence, not in the same way that Severus himself had, or the attraction would be overpowering. Although, he did have to admit that Potter had an astonishing physical intellect, as well as huge reserves of power, if his future self's little display in the infirmary was anything to go by...

Snape slammed his palm down onto the desk in annoyance, his slim body shaking. He only faintly registered the pain in his hand; it was nothing compared to the fierce sensation in his chest, which hurt all the more for being such an unfamiliar feeling. Vehemently, he cursed the after effect of the time-traveling spell; that one moment in the cloud of dust had undone years of painstaking control over every aspect of his personal life. His policy of keeping everyone at a fearful distance had meant that he was occasionally lonely, it was true, but at least it spared him the kind of agony he knew could come from loving someone. His mother, for instance, bound by love to a brute of a man that bullied her constantly, not even caring if his small son was there to see it... No, Severus had always stuck by his plan, never letting himself care about anyone enough to care about what they thought of him in return. But now he couldn't go back to that, not while it felt that his heart was destined to shatter a million times over, just with that one recollection of the hatred on the boy's face.

The potions master rubbed two sets of calloused fingers against the sides of his protuberant nose, closing his eyes as he did so. Thus, it was only when a voice spoke urgently into the room that he realised that he was no longer alone.

'Severus! This is no time to nap, my boy', spoke the headmaster's disembodied head from the fireplace. 'I need to see you in my office immediately.' The head vanished with a small 'pop', and Snape, growling in irritation, got up from the chair. He stretched his tired muscles, wincing as there were several loud clicks from his spine, and headed towards the fireplace. As he left, disappearing into the bright green floo-powder flames, the candle flickered and died.

As soon as he saw Potter standing there in the headmaster's office, it felt like his heart had stopped. The unexpected appearance of the boy he had spent the entirety of the last hour thinking about threw him into complete confusion, and it was only through a great deal of exertion that he was able to stop himself walking backwards into the fire in shock.

'I thought you wanted to see me, headmaster?' Snape questioned icily, meeting the headmaster's gaze and refusing to glance at the boy again.

'Yes, Severus, I did.' Dumbledore looked purposeful, and there was a terrible gleam in his eye. 'Harry has filled me in on your little trip together, and says that Voldemort intends to attack this castle on Friday. Is there any way that you can confirm his theory?'

'No-one there told us anything of the kind. Perhaps Mr Potter is having bad dreams again?' sneered the potions master, still refusing to look anywhere other than at the headmaster.

'Sir' said Harry desperately, 'don't you remember the newspaper?' He then outlined what he had seen in the infirmary, and Severus too had to admit that he had seen the headline. Once again he had to conceal his astonishment, this time at the fact that the boy had been astute enough to recognise the significance of something so seemingly trivial. Thankfully, he had no time to brood on this, as Dumbledore resumed his speech.

'Thanks to Harry's warning, we have enough time to strengthen the wards. It is a great shame we cannot evacuate the castle, but the children would be far too vulnerable on the train: it is very likely that there are large numbers of Voldemort's supporters in the area already. No, we must ready the students, and ensure that they are properly protected. I am sure that they will be delighted that lessons must be cancelled for a week.' His long beard twitched momentarily.

'Severus, you know that you are the only member of staff who will not be able to help with the protective spells around Hogwarts. For that reason, I must ask you to be the one to give Harry the lessons he will need to defeat Voldemort.'

If Dumbledore had been going to say anything more, he was prevented from doing so by the loud cries of 'No!' that arose from both men simultaneously. The headmaster raised his wrinkled hands and glared at the pair of them warningly.

'The greatest weapon we have in this war is unity, however fragile that may be. You can learn a great deal from Professor Snape, Harry, and I would expect you to put all of your energies into your studies. Severus, if our calculations are right, then you should have enough time to teach him everything that he might need. Considering what is at stake, neither of you can afford to jeopardise our chance of victory with a selfish feud.'

Shamed, but still horrified at the thought of this enforced closeness, the two younger men reluctantly agreed to meet the next morning, having little choice but to obey under the stern eye of the headmaster.

Harry walked into the classroom, blearily wiping the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and regretting his choice of bacon for breakfast. He stopped, sensed that something was wrong and drew his wand from his pocket surreptitiously, looking around the classroom as he did so. He was disgusted to be back in this room so soon, with its air of chilly menace, and its slimy stone walls that offered no escape. To his right, there were the familiar- back ache inducing chairs that he had become intimately acquainted with over the past years, and seen Neville reduce to oozing puddles on more than one occasion. Made suspicious by the fact that Snape was nowhere to be seen, he crept slowly towards the office, hoping that he wasn't lurking invisibly in some corner, when-

'Good morning, Mr Potter.' The words snaked from the cruel mouth of their speaker to crawl up his back like an insect. 'Dear me, standing with your back to an open doorway? I could have killed you fifty times by now.'

Harry whirled round, glaring at the rigid face of his ex-potions master but not deigning to answer. This set the tone for the next couple of hours, wherein the older man constantly deplored his lack of knowledge, proceeding to teach him some fiendishly difficult spells that would have made even Hermione scratch her head in confusion. Harry had resolved to keep utterly silent throughout the ordeal, but Snape seemed to be even nastier than usual. The young man put it down to the fact that this was the sixth day they had spent in each other's company, completely unaware of the other's anguish at his stony, hateful expression.

In the early afternoon, when both men were fatigued and on edge, there came a rumble from the castle's foundations, followed by a sudden jolting movement that knocked them both off their feet. Old bruises aching, Harry quickly pulled himself upright again, gasping

'What was that?'

Snape, also standing up again, picked at a speck of dust on his robes as he replied languidly.

'The magic guarding the school is being strengthened, it was bound to cause a few disruptions. Though I am not sure it is worth the effort to protect your talent-less hide.'

'Oh, of course. I forgot you'd rather Voldemort came striding into the castle' said Harry, sarcastically. 'I'll bet he'll have a nice big hug waiting for you, Snape. Besides, it's not like it's you making the effort, is it? Why couldn't you help them, anyway?'

At these words, the older man let his anger take over and moved towards the boy. Instead of hitting him, as Harry thought he meant to do, Snape thrust the left sleeve of his robes up to the elbow and displayed the exposed skin before the younger man's face. Harry looked in fascination at the Dark Mark, almost too distracted to hear the words that his professor spat from between clenched teeth.

'This, Potter, this is the reason. There is so much magic around the castle, ancient magic, that it has become almost sentient. It would never allow me, tainted with darkness as I am, to interfere with the core spells that protect it. So I am unable to help.'

Suddenly realising how close he was to the boy, Snape hurriedly rolled down his robes and moved away, ashamed of the hot, prickly feeling on his skin. Harry looked up at the retreating man, his mind still on the Mark and the way that his last sentence had sounded almost- forlorn. Compassion might have blossomed further, however, if Snape's next words had not been:

'I think we have had enough hexes for one day. Time to see if you can remember _any_ of what I taught you two years ago. _Legilimens_!'

Without warning, the older man had invaded Harry's mind, and was ruthlessly sifting out his most painful memories, avenging himself at last for the loss of his own privacy in the pensieve. Shocked, the younger man did what he had been practicing to do with Hermione ever since Sirius died; he pushed the intruder out.

Suddenly, Harry found himself in an open field, with a cloudless night sky and a moon that was reflected on each of the Death Eaters' masks that surrounded him. Except one, that lay ripped off its owner, dripping with a viscous liquid that shone black in the moonlight. Next to it lay a shadowy heap, that on closer inspection became a man lying face down in the mud, bleeding and broken. His raven hair was unmistakable, and Harry numbly wondered that its owner had not yet pushed him out of this terrible memory. Further thought was interrupted by a break in the circle of Death Eaters that surrounded them, and despite the fact that he was completely safe, an involuntary shiver of fear and hatred ran down Harry's back as Lord Voldemort drew close to Snape.

The monster's red eyes gleamed as he turned the potion master's body over with his foot, and what sounded like a loving sigh rattled out of his snake-like nostrils.

'Ah, Severus' he hissed. 'I see my _loyal_ followers have been giving you a proper welcome. Trust me, my betrayer, you will receive everything that you deserve. Starting with this. _Crucio_.'

His head gleamed horribly white in the moonlight, as he bent it to watch the man writhe on the ground before him. Harry's heart lurched, and he had drawn his wand before he remembered that this was just a memory, and he was powerless to help. He looked on, rage building behind his eyes, tingeing everything pink, as Snape's pale face stared up at the sky, contorted in agony.

After what seemed like hours, Voldemort lifted the curse, strolling around the now motionless body as he lectured his Death Eaters.

'You see before you the price of failure. I hope for your sakes that this lesson will not be repeated. However,' he smirked, long robes trailing behind him dramatically, 'Lord Voldemort can be merciful. Severus!' Taking the weak glare that Snape threw his way for an answer, he continued.

'Severus, you have one chance to redeem yourself. One chance to save your worthless little life. Bring me Harry Potter, and I will spare you.'

There was an immediate flurry of whispering among the cloaked circle of figures at this, and Voldemort, smiling, waved a hand for silence.

'Well, Severus?'.

There was a pause, and Harry edged closer, seeing Snape's lips move but no sound emerge. The man swallowed with difficulty, before attempting to answer again, and this time both Harry and Voldemort heard the words that were rasped from between his broken lips.

'_I wouldn't even bring you Longbottom_.'

Harry had one glimpse of Voldemort flying off into a mad rage before he was suddenly expelled from the memory. He found himself gazing into the extremely troubled eyes of his professor, who, far from being angry, looked hurt and confused. Harry felt a surge of emotion rush through him, pity for what he had gone through, and gratitude for what he had done. He found himself no longer able to meet the older man's eyes, and gazed confusedly at his shoes as he cast around for something to say.

'I'm sorr-'

'Don't.'

'But-'

'Potter, be quiet.' There was a definite waver in the older man's voice that time. Harry began pacing the floor, talking to himself as he did so.

'That was why you were in the infirmary all that time. Must have been over a fortnight. I guess Dumbledore must have rescued you- no wonder no one ever told me what happened. The pain must have been overwhelming, and yet-'

He looked straight into Snape's eyes again, trying to think of the right words to express his gratitude to a man who had saved his life more times that he could count. The sight of the sadness etched in every line of the man's face, and the shame that burnt in his black eyes made Harry's insides writhe, and made whatever he had been about to say stick inside his suddenly dry throat. Giving up, he walked swiftly towards the man, and without hesitation wrapped his arms around his limp body, pressing his head into the crook of Snape's shoulder. The older man became rigid for a second, before the pain of the recollection and other feelings overwhelmed him, and he sagged gratefully into his pupil's strong arms. He buried his face in Harry's fluffy black hair, feeling the warmth of him pressed deliciously close, and suddenly the light of his earlier imagining was back, except it no longer illuminated, but heated him down to his very core.

When they had come out of the embrace, instead of the awkwardness that they had been expecting, both felt a sort of tentative friendship shimmering between them.

'So, what are we doing now?' asked Harry. Snape stared at him blankly for a second before snapping himself out of his trance and replying- in a voice that wasn't quite back to normal yet-

'Actually, I think we have had enough for today. Why don't you do some research on the more advanced spells we talked about, and anything else you think might be useful.'

'Are you serious?' asked a disbelieving Harry, who had half expected to be there until midnight.

'Yes, Mr Potter. You go off and study. I require...' He paused. It was patently obvious to both of them that Snape needed some time by himself, but was too proud to admit it.

'Lunch!' Harry piped in brightly, grinning at the older man.

'Ah, yes. That must have been the word I was looking for', replied Snape, with a wry smile. 'We shall resume your lessons tomorrow.'

'Thank you, sir' said Harry softly, for more than just the curtailed lesson. The older man said nothing in reply, turning his back away from his student and pretending to shuffle the papers on his desk as he walked out the door.

Snape gave a heavy sigh. There was now no doubt that he had fallen whole-heartedly in love with Potter. He knew that he would give his worthless little life in an instant, just to see gratitude on the boy's face, or to feel his lithe arms wrapped around his body one more time. What a fool he had been in the infirmary, to give up so quickly that one sensation he now craved above all others. His skin tingled at the memory, the warmth of the boy's touch. His heart seemed to lighten impossibly with this admission, and yet, in reality, his life now seemed even harder than it was before. How was he supposed to convince that foolhardy, albeit occasionally noble, Gryffindor that what- no, who he really needed was a malicious, _occasionally _spiteful Slitherin who had neither the strength nor the inclination to change? There was a vast ocean of brainless cretins who would undoubtedly throw themselves at the famous Harry Potter, and so it seemed unlikely that he would ever be the boy's first choice.

And yet- there was at least one future where the seemingly impossible had happened, and therefore at least a small chance that it would again, although he still could not comprehend why his future self had chosen to say that the future was immutable. How he envied that man! Able to gaze forever into those emerald eyes, to touch that creamy skin, Merlin, even to _kiss _the boy. His heart beat rapidly as he contemplated this, and he decided that he would devote his full energy into trying to win Harry, without magic, or pretence, or the underhandedness which Slytherins so wrongly prided themselves in. He had felt what seemed like an understanding grow between himself and the younger man that afternoon, and knew that there was a chance that this could blossom into something much deeper, given time.

Still, as Snape wrapped his cloak around his body in an unconscious attempt to protect his aching heart, he could not help thinking that if he could accomplish this, getting rid of Voldemort would be easy.

-end of chapter-

Hi. Once again, a mamouth apology for taking so long to update. I was ill, and I wasn't happy with this chapter for a long time. The good thing about that is that I went on and wrote out bits of the other chapters, so the rest of the story should be coming a lot quicker now.Especially now people are threatening to set theirHippogriffs on me...

Many thanks for all of your kind reviews, particularly the great suggestions. As usual,pleaseleave feedback if you have the time,and any more threats of violence from magical pets are equally welcome, I think they make me write faster!

In respect to some of your reviews: Soph5232, thank you very much for pointing that particular fact out. I had noticed it, and it comes into the plot fairly soon, but it was appreciated nonetheless. To the person who offered to be my beta, thankyou for the offer but Ishould warn youthat you wouldprobably have far too little work to make it worth your while. However, if you are still interested, (after so much time now..) get back in touch, as I'm always up for opportunities to improve my writing. :)

p.s. there are supposed to be page breaks in a couple of places but I can never get them to stay in when I upload the story. Hope their ommission wasn't too confusing/annoying.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Harry looked around the library contemplatively. The high-ceilinged room was usually teeming with students, either perusing the formidable bookshelves or using the surprisingly comfy chairs and carpet to hold a lively discussion about the previous night. From his position in the central aisle he could see that it was now virtually deserted, there were no crowds of giggling girls at the tables in between shelves, nor any hard-working students; a fact confirmed by the eerie, foreboding silence that seemed to follow him like a second shadow. Since Dumbledore's speech he had only seen his peers in three places: frantically conversing in the common room, tearfully sending half-legible messages to their relatives in the owlery, or by the lake, faking nonchalance in the bright sunshine. Harry despised the latter, both for the fact that they were free to engage in this laughable pretence, and for the sheer arrogance of lolling around on the grass whilst they could be training themselves to defend the castle.

He put this out of his mind as he slowly wandered back to the place where he, Ron and Hermione had been researching for the past eleven hours. As he did so, his friends' voices began to permeate the quiet.

'Come on, 'Mione. Just for five minutes.'

'No.' A pause. 'We have to help Harry', she continued in a firmer voice.

'We've been helping him all day! It wouldn't hurt to take a break, you know.'

'Oh Ron, I wish I could, but seeing as he's missing an entire day's training with professor Snape-'

'He's still got four more days! If the git hasn't killed him by then' he muttered darkly.

'You know, if you just gave him a chance you'd find out that he's actually a very good teacher. Just look at this list of topics he gave Harry: it must have taken him ages to prepare, it's got relevant texts, cross references, everything!'

'I can't believe that greasy bat is ruining my love life now!' came her boyfriend's much less enthusiastic response. Harry paused, perturbed for the first time by his friend's description of Snape. He had not yet told them about the curious.. _understanding _that had sprung up between the two of them, almost as if had been lurking under the surface all along. This same reticence had also led him to conceal the note that had been attached to the list of his day's research, explaining that his teacher had to undertake an urgent errand for the Order. It was partly because Snape had thought to assure him that it was nothing dangerous, partly that he did not insult him once, but it was mostly because of the unexpected use of his first name on the top of the letter that he chose to keep it to himself. On first encountering this, down in the potions classroom where Harry had arrived five minutes early, he had not been able to read past the first word for several minutes, merely staring blankly at his name written in Snape's long, jagged script. Once he had read the entire thing, he had felt himself suffused with an odd feeling of wellbeing, that he supposed came from knowing the older man was safe.

At several points during the day Harry had caught himself wishing that the potions master had not been called away, mainly whilst the couple beside him bickered amicably. It was not that he begrudged them their happiness, it was just that he could not help noticing his own lonliness in contrast. He had never experienced this feeling when he was with Snape; it was probably the man's own isolation that made him feel content to be entirely himself. The quiet of the library was good for research, but he would much rather have pursued the practical magics with his teacher, not to mention their odd friendship... Snapping himself out of his reverie, he continued towards Ron and Hermione.

'Have you, you know, thought about what will happen on Friday?'

'Well, of course I have, that's why we're doing the research' replied an uncomprehending Hermione.

'No, I mean if- you know... Um, don't... make it.'

'Oh, Ron!' Her voice was thick with emotion.

'Her-, Hermione. I love you.'

Their conversation devolved into low, private tones, and Harry would have turned respectfully away if he had not already forgotten that they were there. He stared numbly forward, feeling his whole body fill with icy fear at the thought of the coming battle. He was responsible for so many lives, and if he could not do what was expected of him... A wave of panic made him sway where he stood, and the heavy tome he was carrying dropped thunderously to the floor from his shaking hands. He barely noticed as his friends ran up, concern evident on their tear stained faces, nor even as they piloted him towards the nearest seat. Feeling himself sink into the soft material of the well-worn chair, Harry regained his sense of reality and looked up gratefully at Hermione.

'Sorry about that. I'm fine now, honestly.' Noting the look of concern on her face, he hastily added, 'probably shouldn't have skipped dinner, I always feel a bit faint when I haven't eaten anything.' It was clear that neither of his friends fully believed him, a fact confirmed when Ron pulled something wrapped in brown paper from his school bag.

'Here, mate' he said, extending it towards Harry, 'I think we all need some of this.'

'Ron Weasley, where did you get that?'

'Fred and George owled it to me... It's medicinal', continued Ron in his most innocent voice, looking warily at his girlfriend. Harry took a large swig from the bottle, trying to swallow as much of its contents as possible before it was confiscated by Hermione. This turned out to be a tactical error, as the firewhisky burnt a blazing trail through his torso, causing him to fall coughing to the floor. When he emerged from under the table he was shocked to see Hermione herself taking a tentative sip of the liquid- his friend had concluded that, faced with the prospect of losing the men she loved, a little dose of oblivion might not be a bad idea.

Some time later, Harry Potter was to be found slumped on the dusty library floor, gazingly intently up at the ceiling through the misted glass of the empty bottle. A broad, dreamy smile graced his countenance as he wiggled it in different directions, revealing entrancing patterns to his heavy-lidded eyes. Suddenly, a drop of the amber coloured fluid -that had been hanging tenaciously to the rim of the bottle- resigned itself to the power of gravity; plopping wetly onto the unsuspecting boy's nose. Startled, Harry sat up, wiping at the damp patch of his creamy skin and wondering belatedly where his friends had gone. A thought slowly penetrated his foggy brain- they were probably engaged in some sort of amorous activity in the astronomy tower. Deep lonliness threatened to overwhelm his previously blissful mood, and he grew angry as he reflected that this was not the first time that they had abandoned him. It was painful enough that he had neither a partner nor relatives who he could turn to, but now it felt as if he had lost his best friends as well. Desperate for company, the dazed Harry resolved to find the pair, regardless of trifling obstacles like the fact that it was intensely difficult to stand up. After torturously pushing himself up with the aid of a nearby chair, his arm aching from the effort and his head spinning violently, the boy who lived wound a drunken path through the bookshelves, sadness and purpose both vanishing as he marvelled at his surroundings- everything seemed so.. _magical_. Delightedly remembering that he could, in fact, do magic, Harry pulled out his wand and shot multi-coloured sparks into the air, heeless of the fact that most of the objects around him were highly flammable.

Severus Snape was very much a creature of habit. Regardless of the fact that the task he had had to perform for the Order had been long and arduous, and that the school was now more of a safe-house than an educational establishment, he still patrolled the corridors looking for students to chastise, black robes swishing menacingly about him as he strode through the castle. His pleasing sense of normalcy, however, only lasted as far as the Astronomy tower. Pausing a moment at the balcony, enjoying the refreshing feel of the cool breeze on his face and preocupied with memories of the last time he had stood there, he was startled by a clattering noise coming from the stairwell. He had barely had time to draw his wand when the door was flung open and an obviously inebriated Harry Potter staggered through. The young man paused, leaning against the rough stone wall for support and observing his location with a smile. He couldn't have said exactly how he had managed to arrive at his destination, although the next morning he would remember an irate librarian, a long detour around the herbology buildings and a fall down several flights of stairs.

Snape couldn't help but notice the adorably lopsided smile that was slowly fading from the boy's soft red lips, nor the fact that he was shivering, clad only in muggle summer clothes that, while suitable for the stuffy library, offered little protection at this time of night and altitude. The potion master's heart, already beating faster from the unexpected sight of someone who he had spent every free moment contemplating, was pierced with a bolt of pain when he heard Harry's plainitive call into the otherwise empty room. _'Ron? Hermione? Are you there?' _The soft timbre of the young man's voice reverberated with lonliness, and the hurt look in his slightly unfocused green eyes belied his need for company. Instinctively, Snape stepped out of the shadows towards his pupil, who started at his sudden appearance. Prepared to make some sort of conciliatory remark, the older man was completely unprepared for the other's sudden mood change.

'Snapey!' Harry cried excstatically, grabbing the older man's hand and whirling him in ever larger circles around the room. He suddenly stood stock still, unaware that the potions master was still skidding past, clinging desperately to his arm.

'Hey, lets go and play Quidditch! You can borrow Ron's broom if you want, I'm sure he won't mind. Or notice, even.' The older man, slightly ruffled from the unexpected excercise, attempted to regain control of the situation.

'Harry, do not try and make me into a substitute for Mr Weasley. For one thing, I don't look good as a redhead. For another-'

'Silly Snape', came the younger man's somewhat distracted reply- he was concentrating very hard on bringing the room back into focus. 'I don't think you're Wrong. Haha, I mean Wron- _I mean Ron_!' he managed finally, dissolving into giggles. Snape worriedly watched the man all hope of victory rested on, wondering if it was better to give him a sobriety potion or simply throw him into the lake.

'Ron's my friend', said a slightly more composed Harry, a far-away look in his eyes. 'You're...I dunno. You're... _something else_.'

Snape blinked, not daring to hope that his pupil meant anything significant by this remark. And yet, the boy was so drunk, was it not possible that the alcohol had removed the inhibitions placed upon everyday speech? If he was any more Slytherin, he would simply lean in, taking advantage of the other man's slower reflexes, and-

Snape was horrified to find himself unconsciously acting out his thoughts, and stepped quickly back. Harry, drunkenly misinterpreting this as proof that Snape didn't want to play with him, staggered away to the nearest wall and sank down it to the floor, landing in a puddle of abject misery. He pulled his knees shakily up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face into the worn fabric of Dudley's old jeans so that Snape wouldn't see the moisture in his eyes.

'Harry', sighed Snape, walking over to him and also using the wall to manoever himself to the ground, though in his case it was to support his aching bones.

'What is it?' The younger man did not respond, and gazing at him in the silence the potions master realised that he was still shivering. With effort, he removed his travelling cloak and awkwardly placed it around Harry's shoulders, savouring the brief contact with the contours of his body. At this, his pupil lifted his head to look at him, emerald eyes shining from behind long black lashes.

'Thanks', he whispered. There was an uncertain pause, and the younger man seemed to be on the verge of saying something important. He tilted his head to one side, contemplating Snape's pale skin, the murky intensity of his black irises- the same colour as the hair that hung indifferently down to his shoulders. Tentatively, he reached out an unsteady hand and ran it through the dark locks on one side of the potion master's face, his hand brushing softly against the older man's skin as he did so.

'Huh,' he said softly, without breaking eye contact, 'it really is greasy.'

Snape blinked, and would have been more offended if he hadn't been so captivated by the young man sitting so close to him. Still, he bristled, and replied in a haughty voice:

'There are more important things in life than hair-care, Mr Potter. Besides, with _that _unruly mop gracing your head you are hardly in a position to comment.' The teacher couldn't resist smirking as his pupil's hand automatically flew up to his dark wavy hair. Noticing this, Harry awkwardly removed it, replying

'Hey, it's not my fault it won't stay flat. At least I washed mine this morning- here, feel it!'

'See, not greasy at all!' continued Harry, in a slightly slurred voice, as his teacher gently carded his hair through long, artful fingers. Snape tried hard not to let his emotions be displayed on his face; could the boy have any idea how exquisite and strange it was to be able to touch his silky hair, how it felt as though electric sparks were running through his spine? The younger man closed his eyes and leant into Snape's touch, partly because he enjoyed the feel of it, and partly because the alcohol was begining to take its toll on his unaccustomed body. Several minutes of blissful silence followed, until Harry's mind seemed to clear, and a wonderful idea flitted through it, bringing in its wake an upsurge of his earlier exuberance. Opening his eyes, he grasped Snape's hand- that had been so pleasurably employed in stroking his hair, and by a great effort of leaning backwards and upwards managed to pull them both into a standing position. There was a moment when the potions master feared that the boy would immediately topple over again, and he wound his slender fingers around the boy's hand to give them stablilty. Immediately, however, Harry detached his grip and, unexpectedly, placed his palm over the older man's chest, leaning into it slightly.

'Severus', he said quietly, obviously on the verge of announcing something momentous, judging by the odd sparkle in his eyes, 'you're it!' With this, the boy who lived turned on his heel and dashed out of the astronomy tower, still wearing Snape's cloak. The potions master, utterly taken aback, watched him go in consternation. Then, placing his own hand on top of the place where Harry's had rested, recreating the delicious pressure over his heart that had been there only moments ago, he sighed deeply.

Although Snape would grudgingly concede that admitting his feelings for Harry had changed his manner in some respects, love had not yet made a big enough fool of him that he was prepared to go chasing a drunken teenager around the castle in the dead of night. With a slightly evil look on his face, the potions master betook himself to bed, reflecting that he would not wish to be Harry come the morning.

> > > > > >

Okay, I think I can safely say that it's time to finish this story. I apologise profusely to anyone who's been waiting. Chapters will come soon, I promise. I really mean it this time. This chapter isn't great, but I thought as I'd actually written something I'd post it anyway. Feel free to flame if you think it's rubbish. In fact- I encourage you to flame, it will make me try harder next time!

p.s.- If anyone doesn't know, 'it' is the game that Americans call 'tag',I think.


	11. Chapter 11

Severus Snape sat nonchalantly in his office chair, leafing through an old potions periodical with languid flicks of his elegant fingers. Only someone who knew him intimately- and Snape would have readily conceeded that no one of this description existed- would have noticed that the potions master's thin frame was held even more rigidly than usual, his already pale lips were pursed so tight that they had become nearly white, and his obsidian eyes, instead of focusing on the glossy pages in front of him, kept surreptitiously glancing at the office door. Every fibre of Snape's tense being knew that there were still five minutes to go before the boy was due to arrive for his lesson, but the knowledge did nothing to quell the odd tinge of remorse that persistently stung at the edges of his mind like a paper-cut. Perhaps he should have gone after the drunken imbecile after all... but no, the boy had an odd habit of surviving, and Snape would now have the pleasure of gloating over a surely hungover-

'Morning!'

It was only through a Herculean effort of will that the startled Snape did not immediately leap of his seat and hex the young man. Not only had Harry seemingly perfected the art of walking noiselessly, but he looked like the poster-boy for a popular wizarding energy drink. He had the glossy hair, good looks and bright, confident smile of a male model, and for a minute the potions master lost himself in amazed contemplation of how well the boy looked. Sceptical that it could have just been Harry's youthfulness that aided such a speedy recovery, Snape decided to address the issue directly.

'Well, Mr Potter, I'm surprised to see you conscious at this early hour, given your antics last night.'

A puzzled expression graced the boy's handsome face, and from the heightened colour of his soft skin Snape quickly divined, with a wicked smile, that the young man could not remember what had happened.

'Well' Harry paused, disconcerted by his hazy memories of the previous night and by the fact that he seemed to back on last-name terms with the potions professor. 'I suppose I just recover quickly' he said, risking a cheeky grin 'maybe you only feel the effects when you're, you know, more advanced in age...'

Snape, never one to pass up such a golden opportunity, replied in his most deep, insinuating voice

'Be that as it may, Harry, but you seemed to find no fault in my age last night...' The potions master let his speech trail off, his rich tones fading softly into the air, curling around the younger man's ears like silk.

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment, then his bright green eyes widened and a scarlet tinge slowly appeared on his shocked face, creeping down his body until it disappeared under his clothes.

'Wh- what do you mean?' he stuttered, fighting off the mental image that was forcing itself to the front of his brain.

Snape feigned a hurt look.

'Come now, you could hardly forget what happened, how much it meant to both of us... my love.' The older man took a step forward, his usually austere expression softened into one of hope and longing. Harry's mouth hung open, and in his desperation to remember what could have possibly happened he gave in to the fantasy- no, that was the wrong word- the scene that his imagination was trying to thrust in front of his vision.

He saw himself in Snape's strong arms, enveloped in the soft fabric of his robes and the intoxicating smell of aniseed. Feeling long fingers gently caressing his back, sending cold sparks flying up and down his spine, the vision-Harry looked up at the potions master. To his surprise, he saw not the figure of hate that he had always known, but the countenance of his friend, which -now that his vision was free from prejudice- appeared surprisingly attractive to him. The features had not changed, the hooked nose was still as protuberant, the skin still as sallow, hair just as greasy; but his attitude towards them had. They were as much a part of the man as the obsidian eyes that were burning a hole through his body, making various parts of his anatomy grow warm in response, and he realised that he could like them for their virtue of being a part of someone he cared so deeply for. The vision-Snape's lips curved into a gentle smile, and leaning down he very slowly brushed those lips against-

Harry inhaled sharply, bringing the room suddenly back into focus, and seeing the potions master standing before him with a wicked grin on his face he involuntarily took a step back.

'As amusing as your obvious revulsion is, it is hardly conducive to our aims today. I was merely indulging in a laugh at your expense; all that you did last night was run around like an idiot' said Snape, with a slight touch of bitterness in his voice.

'Ah.' said Harry, staring at Snape from where he stood rigidly, a faint blush still tinging his cheeks. The young man strove desperately for something to say, but a variety of emotions tied his tongue. Not only did he feel a natural embarassment for having been fooled so easily, but he was also ashamed that he had somehow offended the potions master. Added to these was an anger at having been called idiotic- Harry had conveniently forgotten that before he had found the hangover cure next to where he had passed out in the Room of Requirement, he had had much the same opinion of himself- and something else, some subtle, troubling emotion that lurked in the shadows of his subconscious like a frightened animal. Whatever it was, Harry instinctively knew that it was not the overwhelming sense of relief that he would have expected to feel at this point. Confused, and aware that he was still gaping foolishly at Snape, the young man decided to inject the first thing that came into his head into the silence.

'I wasn't...er, I mean... um, how was yesterday?' he finished somewhat lamely.

Snape eyed him curiously for a second, and then sighed as the memory of the previous day came to him.

'It went adequately enough. Nevertheless, we missed an entire day of training, something that we can ill afford to do with the Dark Lord breathing down our necks.' He paused. 'I recall that I left you to do research- did you mange to learn anything useful from the bottom of that bottle?' The potions master allowed himself a brief smirk, even though the knowledge of how little time was left was urging him to be serious.

'Actually, we did manage to come up with a few things.' retorted Harry, slightly offended, if not surprised, that Snape would think that he had been shirking his work. He then proceeded to rattle off a list of the useful spells that they had discovered, as well as giving a brief account of those that had proved inadequate and the possible tactics they had considered. By the end of his recitation Snape looked faintly -albeit unwillingly- impressed, an expression that Harry was unused to and one that made him extremely tempted to stick his tongue out at the older man. His levity was quickly dispelled, however, as he was required to spend the next few hours demonstrating all that he had described, practicing the essential spells and receiving invaluable advice from the potions master, even if it was usually accompanied by sarcasm.

Throughout this, Harry continued to wrestle with the scene that his imagination had presented him with earlier, willing it back into whatever disturbed corner of his mind it had emerged from. For all his pains, the thought of kissing Snape always seemed to be at the front of his mind: a problem exacerbated by the extreme proximity of the real man. Every time that the potions master came close, or even said his name, the younger man's skin prickled and his pulse sped up, somehow making him feel light-headed. Attributing this strange phenomenon to his guilt at not having corrected the older man earlier - the phrase 'obvious revulsion' kept meandering through Harry's thoughts in Snape's mellifluous tones- the younger man desperately sought an opportunity to rectify the situation, spurred on by the fact that Snape was being even more aloof than usual, a fairly reliable indication that he had been offended.

Despite his constant watchfulness, no suitable opportunity for this arose during their overview of the rest of his research. Harry's hesitancy was not the result of cowardice, but rather the result of an instinctive feeling that he needed to be utterly certain of what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. Unfortunately, every time that he thought he might have thought of something suitable, one glimpse of Snape was enough to erase every word in the English language from his brain and leave him staring blankly, yet intently at the older man.

As the morning began to wane the two men finished their review, sagging gratefully against the rigid wooden support of Snape's desk in exhaustion. They perched, one at either end, both knowing that there was much more work to be done, but neither having the energy to do so. At last Snape opened his eyes, staring blankly into the shadowy area at the other end of the classroom and slowly trying to martial his thoughts.

'It might be prudent to consider some procedures for... emergencies.' Harry looked across at the potions master, unconsciously studying his profile and suddenly much more alert. He stared at the curtain of jet-black hair that obscured the older man's head, wondering what thoughts were plaguing the dark, brilliant mind within. Without looking, Snape slowly reached behind him for the book that lay on the desk, absently running his fingers across the battered wood in his search. Harry, ever mindful of the injury he seemed to have done to their friendship earlier, reached out for the book in the hope that his helpfulness would help him to atone. His fingers had just touched the spine of the dusty volume when several longer, colder fingers also found the same target. Feeling Snape's rough fingertips stroke up the soft back of his hand made the younger man shiver in surprise, and his eyes snapped from the book to the potions master; whose calm demeanour had momentarily escaped him and who jerked his hand away from Harry's as if he had been caught in some illicit act. Regaining his composure with some difficulty, and trying to ignore the fact that his fingertips burned as if they longed to be back on his student's skin, Snape said

'Are you going to pass me my book, Harry, or should I leave you to caress it for a while longer?' in what he hoped was a normal-sounding voice, although there was a barely perceptible crack in his voice over the word 'caress'.

'I was just trying to help', croaked Harry, handing the object over whilst assuring himself that he would have come up with a much wittier retort had his heart not been playing up again. Trying to somehow slow the temperamental thing down, he contemplated the long hours of tuition still ahead, realising that if he was still distracted by these feelings of guilt he would not be able to give them his full attention, something that -in the circumstances- he could not afford to do. Taking advantage of the fact that the older man had his head buried in the book, scanning the small, densely packed print for the potion he sought, Harry blurted out:

'I wasn't revolted.' The older man slowly looked at him, a quizzical expression on his face that indicated to Harry that he would at least be allowed enough rope to hang himself. 'I mean, earlier, when you were talking about what happened- what didn't happen, when I was drunk. I didn't think it was disgusting, I was just a little... shocked.' He was going to add something to the effect that it was a fairly cruel trick to play, but then remembered to whom he was speaking.

'I see' replied Snape, turning his gaze back to the open book, 'and why did you feel the need to tell me this now?'

'I... you seemed offended. I wouldn't want to lose your friendship.' This last word, spoken in a slightly strained voice by the younger man, slowly dissipated into the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence between the two. Snape, who was slightly struck by a sudden surge of emotion, fought the urge to resort to the sarcasm that had long been his shield against displaying any sort of feeling, and said:

'As most of your fellow Gryffindors have found out, it takes much more than that to offend me.' He paused, keeping his eyes determinedly on the page in front of him. 'Nevertheless, I appreciate your concern. Nothing between us has changed.'

'Oh. Well that's ok then' said Harry, smiling for the first time in several hours. 'What are you looking for?'

'Something that is evidently not in this book' replied the potions master, closing it with a snap and looking at his interlocutor 'and probably in one in my office. Please excuse me for a minute while I go and find it. I assure you that my absence will not be an indication that I have taken offense to something and desire to terminate our friendship'. His tone was rich in his incincerity; and he could not resist sending the younger man a withering- if obviously joking- glance before getting up off the desk. Harry scowled at thus being made fun of, and actually did stick his tongue out at the older man- but only once he had turned his back and was walking to the other room.

Once in the safety of his office, Snape took a deep breath and pressed his hands against the ancient bookcase for support. He kneaded his hands into the wood, endeavouring to compose himself and assess what had happened. Contrary to what he had told the boy, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had been slightly saddened by Harry's subdued, erratic behaviour that morning, and the thought that he was physically repellent to the young man had tortured him all morning. Now, however, Snape felt his lips irresistibly forcing themselves into a smile as he remembered their conversation. The reserved part of him hated the way that the young man could affect his previously unflappable emotions; how one minute he could feel numb, bereft of something he once thought he would never have felt, and the next his body could grow warm as hope seemed to flow through his very veins. Friendship.. it was such a small, banal word, and yet it was the one that seemed to now be infused with the most signifance out of all those in the potion master's extensive vocabulary. Perhaps, from these tentative beginnings- but Snape had never been disposed towards optimism, and remained determined to employ his usual caution in every respect, rather than lose everything in some foolish gamble. If his soul felt slightly lighter as a result of hearing the boy call him a friend, something that no-one had done in a very long time, then he would simply enjoy the feeling without expecting anything more.

And yet, as he left his office and beheld the younger man sitting on the desk, a content expression gracing his handsome features, a stab of longing tore into his heart and stomach. Despite having been independent for so long, he wanted to bind himself to Harry in some permanent, unrelentingly possessive way that would soothe the ache that seemed to permeate his entire body, increasing in intensity the closer he came to him. With his mind throwing fantasies of life with his student in front of his eyes, and a heart rent by longing, Snape composed himself as he had always done, and went on with the lesson.

That night, preparing for a well-deserved sleep after what had seemed like decades of tuition in the cool, musty dungeons, Harry suddenly caught sight of a large black cloak among the pile of clothes on his bed. Realising that it was Snape's, the one that he had stolen during his drunken oddessy and unthinkingly thrown together with the other things he had slept in, when he had returned from the Room of Requirement that morning, Harry picked it up with the intention of putting it in his bag for the next day. Without realising what he was doing, he held the thick material to his face and inhaled the scent that clung to the fabric. The familiar smell of aniseed was almost comforting, although it was accompanied by a odd desire to see the older man again. Puzzling over the significance of this, and suddenly wondering why he was embracing his teacher's clothing, Harry hastily stuffed the garment into his bag. They may have been friends, but he was fairly certain that the older man would not find his actions normal- after all, he couldn't remember what Ron smelt like, and they had been friends for much longer. The mental picture of himself sniffing his best friend made the young man laugh out loud, and he immediately climbed into bed, hoping he would fall asleep before his sanity crumbled even further.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

During his seven turbulent years at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had prided himself on his developed resilience to Snape's persistent, innovative and malicious attempts to turn the dungeon classroom into a place of terror. No matter what had, literally, been thrown at him, the young man had always stood his ground, never once wanting to give in and concede victory to his somewhat sadistic teacher. Now, however, sitting alone at a table in the classroom, feeling nervous twinges fluttering through his stomach, he reflected upon the irony that all the potions master had needed to do to _truly_ disconcert him was to invite him to dinner. One simple invitation and all of a sudden the gangrenous walls seemed to close in on him, the cowardly light to recede, and the air, which had grown a great deal frostier, to press hard upon his chest- ill protected by a thin red t-shirt. The young man's skin prickled and he ran slightly shaky fingers through his jet black hair, dislodging several loose ones that drifted gently down to rest on the parchment lying on the table in front of him, something that he was continually distracted from by his fixation upon the faint sounds coming from the office to his left: a crackling, breathy noise, interspersed at intervals with a man's clipped, precise voice.

Harry sighed softly, reflecting upon the fact that, as far as circumstances allowed, it had been a relatively normal day- he had arrived late, Snape had been sarcastic, and they had once again exhausted themselves in the search for spells, potions and tactics that would help them to defeat Voldemort. With each idea that floundered, and every tired mistake they made, the realisation of how little time was left weighed more heavily on their already burdened shoulders. Harry had expected, and feared, that the pressure they both felt would spark heated disputes between himself and the equally irascible potions master, but to his surprise they seemed to be working together better than ever. Given their newfound amicability, Harry knew that his nervousness at his current predicament was unreasonable; the idea of dining in the dungeon made perfect sense, as they could efficiently replenish their tired bodies and have more time for preparation afterwards. It was just that, well, he was having dinner with Snape. Alone. By this point, he had successfully tamed his urge to bolt out of the classroom door, though he had come close when Snape had conjured a tablecloth to cover his teaching desk. Never usually intimidated, especially not by social situations, Harry wondered why he was so flustered- although the idea that similar scenarios often had romantic connotations kept nudging impudently at the back of his mind. Despite this, a degree of anticipation also lurked behind his troubled green eyes. The older man was still very much a mystery to him, and the thought of seeing him in an almost ordinary situation, now that he had the status and freedoms of a friend, was both a novelty and an opportunity. He caught himself wishing that they could just be like normal people, sitting down for dinner together without the demands of this reality pressing upon them- conveniently forgetting that it was the knowledge of this future that had engendered their friendship in the first place. Hearing the sound of Snape's footsteps on the dusty stone floor, something he had become very attuned to in recent years -mainly through a very justified fear of the potions master's ability to sneak up on one at the most inconvenient moments- Harry hurriedly turned his attention back to the scroll in front of him.

Snape, having finished giving the house elves instructions through the fireplace, strode back out of the office without giving himself a second to reflect upon his actions. Had he done so, he would have been forced to concede that he could have just as easily told the young man to dine in the great hall and then return, and thus to also admit that the current situation was born out of his selfish desire to keep Harry to himself. Nevertheless, the potions master had few scruples about abusing the situation to his advantage; he was harming no-one and he could not remember the last time that he had even dined with a friend. In hindsight however, he mused, the tablecloth may have been overdoing it. Dismissing this trifling error, he gracefully seated himself opposite his student, noting with a smile the way that Harry stared at him, coloured and automatically looked back to the text on the desk. Attributing his reaction to a lack of preparation, the older man asked

'Well, was your assumption correct?'

Harry's deep green irises flickered as he hurriedly scanned the page in front of him.

'No', he said in a slightly sullen voice, annoyed that the theory he had been working on for the past hour had been so easily swept aside. 'Although..' his voice lightened, and he looked up at his teacher, flashing him a mock-insolent grin that revealed his perfectly even, white teeth. 'Neither were you.'

Snape, who had been about to say something conciliatory (in a patronising way, of course), paused, his thin lips framing a forgotten syllable. Looking at the parchment with interest, he exhaled and took it from the younger man without a word, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he quickly absorbed the information inscribed there. Soon a wry smile graced his features, and glancing up at Harry from under his dark eyelashes he retorted

'I never claimed to know all of the answers, Harry, even the great Socrates himself did not dare to do such a thing. Besides which, I think you will find that, technically, I was not wrong.'

Harry's grin immediately metamorphosed into an exaggerated, open-mouthed expression of feigned indignation. He knew that there was truth in what Snape said, but he could not resist trying to irritate the older man.

'Well, that's funny, because I always thought that not being right automatically made you wrong.'

'Actually, Potter, I believe you always 'thought'- if such a thing is possible- that being wrong automatically made you right.'

Harry cocked his head to one side, absorbing Snape in an unblinking, penetrating gaze that tied the older man's stomach in knots and made him exert every fibre of his being to prevent the heat he felt inside showing on his pale skin.

'Well, I was taught by an expert in that field...' He let his sentence slowly trail off, enjoying the way that an exasperated look flashed momentarily across his companion's features. This was quickly replaced by a sardonically raised eyebrow, as Snape relaxed back into his chair and replied

'I am glad to hear that Professor Trelawney at least taught you something, then.' He paused, suddenly curious. 'Please tell me that you did not actually enjoy your lessons with that ridiculously deluded individual. I am still astounded that she was able to find her way to the classroom every morning, let alone impart actual knowledge. Not that there is much of that to be found in her subject, of course.'

'Her lessons were pretty boring', confessed Harry, deciding that honesty was the best option, 'though it wasn't too bad if Ron brought in his chess set, or you were close enough to Dean to watch him do his impressions.' He smiled at the memory, and seeing Snape's slightly puzzled look he continued

'He used to do a really good one of Trelawney behind her back, it was something like- ' Harry put his index fingers and thumbs together to make a spectacle shape, and placing them over his own glasses he twisted his lips into the shape of a fish's mouth, pursing it comically while fluttering his eyelashes. Snape, who was unused to anyone acting in this manner for his amusement, was so shocked that he was momentarily incapable of reacting. The next second however, and without entirely realising what he was doing, the older man burst out laughing, an act that somehow made his tired body feel light and caused his ribs to ache in an unfamiliar yet pleasant way. Hearing the potions master's laugh free from any inflected cruelty or bitterness for the first time, Harry dropped his hands from his face and studied his companion's visage with interest. Snape looked genuinely happy, his smile, the sparkle in his dark eyes and the points of colour on his face from where he had been laughing so hard all combined to make the man look younger, and his student felt an odd pride that he had been the one to cause this. He could also not help but notice that, when totally unguarded in this manner, the potions master looked more than passably attractive. Once this fact had been brought to his attention, Harry found it very hard to stop looking at the older man, continually wanting to reassure himself that the attraction had been fleeting; but every time he did so he found to his dismay that his friend's good looks were only confirmed in his mind. Suddenly growing rather hot, he was saved from the embarrassment of Snape noticing this by a sudden 'pop' at his side, which signalled the arrival of Dobby with their meal.

'Good evening masters!' squeaked Dobby happily, balancing a large tray artfully on one small hand. 'How does your training go?'

'Not too badly, thank you Dobby. How are you and Winky?' replied Harry, attempting to help the house-elf with the dishes he carried, only to be shooed politely away.

'Master is kind to ask, Winky and Dobby are both well, though all house-elves are worried' said Dobby, putting the plates on the table, a touch of nervousness making his voice enter an even higher register. 'Dobby tells them that they have nothing to worry about, that Harry Potter cannot fail to defeat the He Who Must Not Be Named- but sir,' he continued, his saucer-like eyes blinking steadily at Harry, who had begun to feel rather sick, 'Dobby wishes to help in any way he can! Dobby does not want Hogwarts to fall- Dobby would rather die before anything happened to his home, or his friends!'

'Uh, thanks, Dobby.' replied Harry slowly, a thousand thoughts flying through his mind that made it hard to think of anything to say. 'With Dumbledore around I'm sure things will be ok. Thanks for the food, it smells delicious.'

'Masters are most welcome. Dobby will be back immediately if masters need anything else'.

Looking at Harry with concern, and flashing a nervous half-smile at Snape, the house elf vanished, leaving the two men with a plentiful supply of food and a slight ringing in their ears.

Passing the younger man a plate of Hogwarts' finest salmon risotto, aware of the unease that the elf's speech had caused him, Snape remarked

'If your little friend is really willing to help, perhaps he shouldn't give us so much food- we'll never defeat anyone if we are unable to walk.'

'I think you're underestimating the effectiveness of just sitting on Voldemort' replied Harry, making sure that Snape was looking the other way before hungrily shovelling a forkful of rice into his mouth, distracted from all of his worries by the steaming food in front of him. 'Besides which.. ' he paused to chew, 'my 'little friend' does have a name, you know.'

'Oh yes, I do vaguely remember him from Lucius' house, he was always getting in the way.' Seeing the affronted look on Harry's face, Snape stopped his fork as it was en route to his mouth and continued, 'I was raised by a class of people that assume superiority by simply ignoring and abusing everyone else. House elves are just seen as part of the furniture. I know that this isn't a laudable attitude to have, but it is a hard mindset to break.' He hesitated. 'Forgive me if I have been rude.'

Harry made a dismissive noise through a mouthful of food, slightly startled but intrigued by the information that Snape had volunteered. Swallowing, and silently lamenting the fact that his plate was becoming empty at an incredibly fast rate, he said

'What were your parents like?' As soon as he had spoken these words he was tempted to look away from the potions master, worried that he had asked too personal a question, but instead held the other man's gaze steadily; as if to prove that his intention was sincere. Snape looked down at his plate, pausing to eat a few more bites whilst he composed an answer in his head. Observing this, Harry realised that although the older man ate with characteristic grace, it was in a slightly hurried manner that belied a habitual uncertainty as to where the next meal was coming from. A relic of his spying days, the young man supposed.

'My parents were dissimilar in almost every respect', began Snape in a low tone that roused Harry from his reflection. 'My mother was artistic, impulsive and completely controlled by my father, a stubborn, vindictive man who took no interest in me apart from occasionally checking that I lived up to his expectations in my academic career.' He stopped, looking up at Harry for the first time in his speech. 'I am not a man who craves the sympathy of others, Harry, and by that look on your face I gather that I have already said too much. If the staff-room gossip is anything to go by, your childhood was just as miserable as mine, so let us not dwell on things that we cannot change.'

Harry, remembering some of the scenes he had seen in Snape's memory, and full of a compassion that he was forbidden to express, shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he struggled for something to say. After a good minute of fidgeting, however, it began to dawn on the increasingly embarrassed boy that there was something severely wrong with his trousers. A creeping, prickly sensation was gradually spreading over his lower half, faintly irritating at first but soon feeling like a thousand hot pins were piercing the surface of his skin, making him scratch at his legs in vain to try and alleviate the pain. Snape, who had been dreading any expression of pity from Harry, was almost relieved by the look of agony on his student's face, but as the boy kept raking his nails over the serrated cord material of his trousers, he began to recognise the symptoms of a particularly potent timed-release itching powder. Not only did his students think it amusing to disrupt lessons by frequently pouring this illicit substance over one another, but himself he had been the recipient of a fair few doses, and thus pulling out his wand from the pocket of his robes, he was able to mutter a little-known counter spell that many of Harry's peers would have killed for.

Feeling a pleasant soothing sensation wash over his body, the younger man looked gratefully at his companion, simultaneously blushing at the thought of how ridiculous he must have looked.

'Thank you. Seriously.' he breathed, closing his eyes and running his hands over his face in relief. 'This happened to Neville last night and we had to take him to the infirmary in the end- everything we tried to get it off only seemed to make it worse.' Anger slowly washed through him at the thought of this, making his hand clench the fabric of his trousers where it had rested, his tone growing deeper as he explained the sudden bout of pranks that had been perpetrated by individuals in the lower years. 'It's only because they're trying not to think about... what's going to happen' he continued, 'but if they only realised that they could be doing something _useful_, instead of causing more problems, maybe we'd have a better chance of defeating Voldemort.' Frustrated, he attacked what was left of his meal, consuming it in rapid, yet satisfying bites that seemed to calm him down.

Snape also resumed eating, but the young man's words continued to echo in his mind. Looking up once more, he said

'I take it that you place no faith in the inevitability of the 'future' that we visited?' Snape held his breath as he awaited Harry's response, his pounding heart all too aware of the significance of the boy's reply.

'We can't afford to take any chances' replied Harry, in a decidedly neutral tone. 'We saw one version of the future- who's to say there weren't 50 others that we could have landed in? Besides which, I know for a fact that neither of us thought it was perfect.' He grinned at the potions master, expecting an affirmative response, but greeted instead by a lukewarm expression and oddly shuttered obsidian eyes, he flushed and continued talking to cover his confusion.

'Okay, so I guess it could have been a lot worse- we could have been dead or something.'

'Potter, you have no imagination' joked Snape, recovering himself and pushing the last vestiges of his risotto around his plate, 'it would have been a lot worse had Voldemort won, allowed us to live and forced us to marry Longbottom and Creevey in some fiendish plan to very, very slowly drive us to suicide'.

Harry laughed, very narrowly avoiding spraying his friend with rice by clapping a hand over his mouth in the nick of time. His emerald eyes shone with affection, and assuming a serious expression, he replied

'That would be terrible. The really pressing question though, is who marries whom?'

Snape put down his fork and rested his chin on a pale hand, looking around the classroom reflectively and ruthlessly crushing the sorrowful part of him that wanted to cry that the only person he would ever choose was Harry. 'I have both contemplated and facilitated a number of despicable acts in my time- but even I could not bear to discuss the relative merits of those two, especially if it came to comparing their sexual prowess.'

'Hey! They're my friends!' replied the younger man, ignoring the strange frisson he felt at the word 'sexual' being said in Snape's deep, silky voice.

'Yes, yes- but are you objecting because you cannot bear to have their reputation besmirched, or because you do not want to lose your appetite?'

'I can't believe that you'd think that I-' Harry paused as Snape waved a delicious looking plate of treacle tart in front of his face. 'Ok, it might be a bit of both..'

The older man swapped their empty plates for two new ones: Harry receiving the aforementioned tart and Snape a huge slice of pecan pie, the house-elf having thoughtfully provided each with his favourite. Harry could not help but notice how his teacher smiled with genuine pleasure at the sight of his dessert, enjoying the sight of his happiness and determinedly not thinking about the way that a wisp of black hair gently caressed the potions master's cheek, or the fact that he wanted to slowly brush it away. Resolutely turning his attention to his own pudding, Harry sliced off the end with his fork and held it up to his mouth, studiously not looking across the table to where Snape sat, attempting to conceal how much he was enjoying the taste of his pie out of habit. Trying to distract himself, and still wanting to use the opportunity to find out more about his friend, Harry said

'So, um, how long have you known you... you know...liked men?' and then, horrified, nearly kicked himself under the table as he realised that he had involuntarily asked a completely different- and entirely more personal- question to the one he intended. He dared not ask himself why his subconscious had evidently been meditating on Snape's sexuality.

'A long time now', replied the older man without hesitation. 'Nor have I ever had any qualms about it- the knowledge came to me as naturally as, for example, the realisation that I prefer pecan pie over treacle tart.'

'Oh, okay' said Harry, relieved that he hadn't been thrown out of the dungeon and discovering that for the first time he had something to envy Snape for. 'Ummm, what's a pecan?' The potions master rolled his eyes, savouring another mouthful before replying.

'A pecan is a type of nut. It has never really been popular in the castle since Professor Flitwick nearly died choking on one, but I firmly believe that something this good is worth the deaths of at least several faculty members.' Harry stared at Snape, who had allowed his insincerity to be betrayed by a slight upward twitch on both sides of his mouth, and wondered at the way that the man's face could be so expressive when he chose. Interpreting the young man's silence as incomprehension, the potions master restrained himself from rolling his eyes once more, and continued.

'If you don't believe me, you may try some; providing that you answer one question.' Internally, part of the older man was shocked at what he had just said: he would have never usually suggested anything to do with sharing food, as it seemed disgustingly clichéd and intimate. In this situation, however, it felt completely natural, the truth of which was proven by Harry's response, who- awakening from his daze, smiled and replied

'That depends on what the question is.'

'How long have you, 'you know', liked men?' He could not resist mocking his student, even though he was intensely interested in the young man's answer. A bolt of pain shot through his stomach as he saw Harry sigh and look down at his plate, a slightly pained look in his eyes.

'I don't know. I think I tried to deny it for a long time- the last thing I needed was something else that made me different.' He paused, finding it difficult to talk about such a personal subject but feeling oddly as if he owed the other man an answer. 'I'd grown up with my aunt and uncle's.. comments.. about anyone, you know, like _that_- and with everything that's happened over the past few years it just seemed easier not to tell anyone. Except Ron and Hermione, that is.' A small smile wove itself around his soft lips as he remembered how they had accepted him without condition. 'Oh, and you, I guess' he finished, looking up at the other man.

'Well, it would have been hard for me not to notice, given the circumstances', Snape replied, cutting off a piece of pie and ignoring the feeling that he wanted to comfort the other man, mainly due to the fact that he had absolutely no idea of what would help. 'There you go'. He placed the segment on the other man's plate and then ostensibly returned his attention to his own, whilst actually looking at Harry's reaction under his dark eyelashes. His student placed the morsel on his fork, raised it suspiciously to eye level, then to nose level, briefly inhaling the sweet smell before finally placing it in his mouth with much caution. The young man chewed reflectively, impulsively closing his eyes as he made a small noise of appreciation that made the watching potions master want to lean across the table and kiss the sugary residue from his lips.

'Not bad' he said happily, deliberately understating his appreciation to annoy his friend. Harry, to his surprise, had found that the dessert tasted wonderful, not as good as treacle tart in his opinion but oddly suited to the older man- a rich, intense flavour that left a lasting impression.

'Then there's hope for you yet, Harry.' Snape stopped, interrupted by the younger man accidentally knocking his water goblet off the table. 'Albeit a slender one' he continued in a sarcastic voice, cleaning up the spillage with a flick of his wand. His student scowled and pushed both plate and goblet away from him, as if to avoid any further accident.

The two of them looked at the empty dishes on the table, each wishing that both the food and their conversation could have carried on a bit longer, albeit for different reasons. Whilst Snape merely wanted to prolong his time with the younger man, Harry fervently desired to convince himself once and for all that he was in no way attracted to the still-mysterious man seated opposite him.

'If we are finished...' half-questioned Snape, with Harry reluctantly nodding his assent, 'then we had better get back to work'.

--end of chapter 12--

Hi. I sincerely apologise for not updating for months, your reviews made me feel exceptionally guilty- for which I give you my heartfelt thanks. Thank you for your kind words, your criticisms and your advice, please continue to comment if you feel so inclined, it means a lot to me that you're still reviewing even though I've been horrible to you all by ignoring this story for a while. I know that I've promised to update more frequently before, and failed dramatically, but this time I mean it! We're not far from the end now, and I've been looking forward to writing the next chapter ever since I started writing this. (Which was a looooooong time ago- sorry once again!) Hopefully, I should have the next chapter up in a week or so. I hope that you all have a wonderful time in the meantime. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Death Eater bore down on Harry Potter with malicious celerity, its wand drawn and a look of unwavering hostility clear in the stony eyes behind its skull-white mask. The room that it strode through seemed faded and unreal in comparison to the startling blackness of its robes, which seemed to greedily suck the meagre light into them. With every fibre of his tired being Harry tried to flee, but the restraints that held him to the dungeon floor were simply too strong. As he examined the cold iron manacles in panic, he heard the fierce click of leather on stone draw ever nearer and then suddenly stop, vague echoes still reverberating around the cold room as the creature bent down to examine him, burning his skin with its coarse breath. Despite his fear, Harry stubbornly returned its stare; and was thus able to observe it abruptly take two swift steps back, fold its arms across its chest and proceed to do a strange dance that involved flailing its legs around in vaguely ordered sequences, moving back and forth over the stone floor like a bizarre mechanical toy. Flabbergasted, Harry watched it spin around, his confusion only growing deeper as the mouth shaped hole opened and a strangely familiar tune issued from it, sung off-key in a voice that sounded like-

---Ron, singing to himself as he came back from breakfast, the memory of his night with Hermione playing pleasurably across an otherwise troubled mind. Taking its cue, Reality shouldered its way into Harry's subconscious, waking him immediately from his bizarre dream and leaving him with the alarming realisation that he had approximately two minutes to get to the dungeons on time. Scrambling out of the covers, he stumbled through the thick curtains around his bed without bothering to open them, startling his friend -who had assumed his absence- as he frantically searched for clothes. Disregarding the jeans that he had worn yesterday, uncomfortable memories of the itching powder all too fresh in his mind, he picked up a pair that were lying forgotten on a chair, obviously unwashed but looking respectable enough for another day's wear, and dressed as fast as he could. Flying out of the door with a hurried farewell to his friend, he raced downstairs- his legs by now used to sprinting the distance between the dormitory and Snape's classroom. Arriving at the door, he took a deep breath and tried to walk in as though he had just taken a leisurely stroll down to the dungeons and had under no circumstances missed breakfast. This facade crumbled almost instantly as the potions master, looking up from an antique scroll with a faintly amused expression, gestured impatiently to a small stack of croissants on the table, indicating that Harry should help himself.

'As much as I resent the idea that I have somehow become responsible for feeding you', he remarked dryly, 'I'd rather that you were able to concentrate this morning, given the little time we have left.'

Sending a wry smile in his teacher's direction, and mindful of his hungry distraction the previous morning, Harry advanced eagerly on the food, and it was only when he had half a pastry stuffed in his mouth that he began to reflect on how thoughtful Snape had been, an idea which sent an odd shivery feeling through his torso and up into the region of his heart, where it left a lingering warm sensation. Attributing this to a reaction to the older man's newfound humanity, the boy would nevertheless be annoyed that throughout the day certain expressions, glances, or touches from Snape were to create this same feeling in frequent enough intervals to make him feel giddy and unaccountably nervous. At this moment in time however, Harry was rendered utterly content by the unexpected breakfast in front of him, and once he had started on a second croissant, revelling in the taste of the warm, flaky pastry, he ambled happily over to where his teacher stood, munching as he went. It was a testament to how comfortable he now felt with the older man that he did not hesitate to stand as close to his side as possible and lean over him slightly- something which sent Snape's pulse racing, though he concealed it well- intrigued as to what warranted such intense study from his friend. Struggling to decipher the dense, curling medieval script, Harry took another thoughtful bite of his food, scattering crumbs onto the yellowed vellum in the process.

'Potter', intoned Snape in only half-pretended irritation, turning his head to his right so that the younger man might feel the full effect of his displeasure. 'I didn't go to the trouble of getting you food so that you could splatter it all over my library. Kindly stand back if you insist on throwing it everywhere.' Harry, unaware that the last thing the potions master -whose skin tingled every time that the boy accidentally knocked into him- actually wanted him to do was to move away, nevertheless remained where he was, looking sideways up at the older man with a mischievous grin and proffering his half eaten croissant.

'You can have some if y-' Harry's voice caught in his throat as he contemplated the man in front of him properly for the first time that morning. The troubling realisation of the previous night suddenly washed through him in a wave of pure heat, and he became acutely conscious of his extreme proximity to a man who he could no longer deny was attractive. Still staring into Snape's eyes, the younger man lost all sense of what he had been saying, floundering in their obsidian darkness yet not seeing the confusion that resided there. It seemed that he could sense every fibre of the man standing next to him: his rigid stance, the heat that his body gave out, the way that his hands trembled slightly as they held the parchment, making his arm brush tantalisingly against Harry's. Never before had the young man been so completely at a loss as to what to do; he usually reacted instinctively to any situation without hesitation, but in this case it felt as though his mind was suppressing any innate feeling, leaving him completely paralysed.

As his pause stretched out into what seemed like eternity, Harry slowly came to the conclusion that the reason for his numbness and inaction was that there was simply no emotion behind any of his thoughts. What did it matter if he thought that Snape was handsome? Given the pressure of the imminent threat that they faced, combined with their enforced proximity, it was hardly surprising that his over-burdened mind was producing trivial thoughts to distract him from the inevitability of the coming battle. Attraction was a fickle and meaningless thing, something comprehensively proven to him by the literally shining example of Guilderoy Lockheart in his second year. Such cold logic, not to mention thoughts of Voldemort, gradually brought him back into the present, and finding that he had full control over his vocal chords again, he swallowed hard and said

'Actually, I've changed my mind, this one's mine.' His voice was much hoarser than he would have liked, but the slight widening of Snape's eyes told him that he had at least been audible. Stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth to prove the point, Harry turned and walked back to the table on which he had placed his bag, intending to retrieve a library book that Hermione had thoughtfully left on his bed, thinking that it might be useful to them. As he walked, safe in the knowledge that the potions master could not see his face, he took a deep breath to calm his fluttering nerves, forgetting that he was attempting to chew at the same time.

Snape, meanwhile, had forgotten how to breathe altogether. He remained still, feeling as if he had been hit with a powerful freezing hex that had locked his limbs but left him the unbearable pain of his longing for the younger man. The intensity of Harry's gaze had stripped away everything superfluous from him, leaving just a shimmering, uncertain core that seemed to thrive from being close to the young man, who had mysteriously stopped in the middle of the classroom. A sudden bolt of fear passed through him, and seeing the boy stop and put his hands to his face, producing the unmistakeable coughing sounds of someone choking, the potions master instantly sprinted in his direction. Just as Snape reached him however, Harry recovered himself and, sensing the other man behind him, started forward so that he was out of reach. He could find no explanation for his own jumpiness, but tried to gloss over it by muttering a quick 'I'm fine, thanks', before swiftly completing his journey and grabbing the book from his bag. Turning around, his heart contracted as he glimpsed a fleeting expression of hurt cross the potions master's face, and he had to restrain himself from instinctively going over to comfort the other man, knowing that it would be a bad idea, even if he could not understand why.

'Shall we get started, then?' said Harry, more out of a desire to fill the heavy silence than to get back to their arduous preparations.

'I don't know if we should bother. If Voldemort can simply walk into a common bakery and find a sure-fire method of defeating you there, we might be wasting our time.' Snape mentally winced as the words emerged from his mouth in a sharper tone than he had intended, but his pain and confusion had thrown him off balance, and not knowing how to handle the awkward situation, he took refuge in what was familiar to him and immediately began their lesson.

Although the stilted atmosphere slowly dissipated, there remained an underlying tension between them that could not be dispelled. Harry's irritation at his own unaccountably strange behaviour was exacerbated by a thwarted desire to return to the natural amicability that they had both felt on the previous day: having only recently discovered that Snape was -surprisingly- one of the few people that he could be completely comfortable with, he felt that it was unfair that this should have ended so soon. It did not help that he could not control the direction of his own thoughts, such as at the moment when, watching Snape completely absorbed in calculating potions ingredients, he suddenly caught himself wondering what it would be like to possess this reserved, enigmatic man in some way. Startled, he had unconsciously shaken his head, as if to dislodge the idea, and continued to follow his teacher's progress attentively. The older man did not observe this gesture, largely due to the fact that he did not trust himself to look at Harry without losing his composure. Thus the day dragged by, and though they were both unsettled and discontented, their work nevertheless progressed profitably, resulting in the discovery of several new techniques that might aid them on Friday, a date that was becoming uncomfortably close.

--------

At some point in the late evening, while the two men were absorbed in their arduous labour, three students strolled nonchalantly into the kitchens -where the sometimes tropical heat from the ovens that had cooked the night's dinner had by now faded to a gentle warmth- and were immediately greeted by the ever exuberant Dobby; whose face, however, fell into an uncharacteristic frown as soon as he saw the leader of the group. Draco Malfoy, pointy-faced and supercilious, looked down at his former house-elf with a contemptuous expression and snapped

'Tea. Now.' without any hesitation or pretence at civility, before turning back to his companions, who were already preoccupied with a plate of scones that had been left on a nearby table. Looking around the expansive room, lent a homely atmosphere by the wooden furniture, old-fashioned cooking utensils and delicious aromas of food, the young man wondered that such great, momentous things were to originate in such a humble, inappropriate place: a location that had always been the domain of the inferior and subservient. Realising the need to carry out the plan expediently, he nevertheless permitted himself a quick moment to savour the thought that everything would soon be restored to its rightful place, before carefully concentrating on the instructions that he had been given. Knowing from his research that most of the other house elves would be away from the kitchens, engaged in the thousands of necessary tasks that put the castle safely to bed every night, Draco felt safe enough to openly hand small, carefully wrapped packages to Crabbe and Goyle -who both accepted theirs with slightly buttery fingers-, before walking to the main fireplace, the light from the tall flames illuminating his pale features as he paused thoughtfully next to it. He did not have to wait long before the rubbery squeak of the house elf behind him announced that their tea was served. Turning on his expensive heel, he looked at the ornate silver tray that had been placed next to his fellow Slytherins, laden with all of the paraphernalia associated with tea, before glancing at Dobby and intoning

'you forgot the eclairs', in a clipped, patronising voice. Once the house-elf, red faced and apologising profusely, had once again disappeared, Malfoy turned back to the fire, and with quick, practiced movements extracted the round object concealed under his clothes, before deftly accomplishing the duty that he had sworn by his life to fulfil. This done, he strode purposefully towards Crabbe and Goyle, by his mere presence intimidating the two imbeciles into working faster and ensuring that they had completed their simple tasks by the time that Dobby returned. Once the elf had placed a gigantic plate of mouth-watering eclairs in front of them, oozing with chocolate and cream, Draco cast a malicious look at his two companions, who were both staring at the confections with glazed expressions, and suddenly walked away from the table towards the exit, calling

'Actually, we've changed our minds, we're not hungry any more' over his shoulder as he did so, smirking to himself as he heard the pair's reluctant footsteps behind him. Absorbed in smug self-congratulation, and thoughts of the events that he had set in motion, he did not even notice the small, somewhat tawdry figure that brushed past his legs on her way into the kitchens as he left.

Noting the untouched food, and Dobby's miserable expression, Winky stopped next to the dejected elf.

'Do not mind those nasty Slytherins, they'll soon be gone,' she said softly, her round eyes full of concern. Her friend brightened instantly at her attempted comfort, and dragging chairs next to the fire, he poured two cups of tea and placed the plate of eclairs in front of them. Gesturing that Winky should have a seat, he smiled and replied

'Come. No sense in wasting good food.' His friend sent him a doubtful, hesitant look, but nevertheless crossed over the sandy coloured floor tiles and seated herself next to him. His smile now transformed into a full-blown grin, Dobby carefully passed her a cup and a pastry, and the two settled into an amicable discussion about their respective days, not to mention the relative merits of students from each House. The elves were chatting so contentedly in the otherwise deserted kitchen, that, some minutes later, they failed to notice a large bag of flour rise from a shelf behind them and float swiftly through the exit.

--------

Midnight had passed invisibly, the only sign of the late hour being the traces of exhaustion that were gradually deepening on Snape and Harry's faces. Torches blazed from contorted iron brackets on the forbidding stone walls, creating a false, glaring light that had begun to irritate both men's eyesight; already dazzled by the multi-coloured flashes of too many hexes. They stood in the centre of the room with all desks and chairs piled in a tortured heap at the back, hurled there by a satisfyingly violent spell from the irritated potions master, whose annoyance had been building in proportion to the amount of time that was slipping away from them. It was not that he thought the younger man unprepared- though common sense dictated that no-one could ever be truly ready to face the Dark Lord- but rather that, despite their evident and growing friendship, he would never again have an excuse to spend so much time with his student, and the ludicrous idea that he should attempt some sort of declaration was gathering strength in his mind. Standing barely a metre from Harry and looking searchingly into his emerald eyes, the older man, so adept at reading people, could not delude himself that he saw a reciprocation of his own feelings, rather tiredness, anger at nothing in particular, and a vague, hesitant confusion that would have been more puzzling if he had not so often seen the boy bewildered. He drank in Harry's appearance, his tousled hair, pouting lips and the resilient stance that was obvious even when clothed in jeans and a faded green t-shirt that were far too big for him; and a stab of pain and longing sliced through his heart as he contemplated both the profile of his companion and his own cowardice.

Harry took advantage of the pause in their mock duel to scrutinise the thoughtful look on his teacher's face, wondering what thoughts prompted the unguarded expression that somehow managed to highlight the potions master's most attractive features. The tilt of the older man's head meant that several strands of his jet black hair gently brushed against his skin, which had become more coloured from the physical exertion of the spell work. His mouth was slightly open, making his lips appear more full and lending them an appealing bow shape. His posture had lost the menacing edginess that forbade any close contact, and he looked almost.. vulnerable. Harry had almost given up protesting at these seemingly treacherous thoughts, having decided that there was nothing wrong with admiring the older man: it was a welcome distraction from thoughts of combat.

Brushing his hair away from his glasses, Harry indicated that he was ready to begin again, and watched the older man intently for any betrayal of his intention. Seeing his wand hand twitch, the younger man immediately cast a shield spell on himself, realising that any pre-emptive offensive action would be too easily countered. Panic pulsed through his veins as he belatedly caught sight of Snape's expression- a cold, sinister smile that was tinged with sadness, a sure sign that Harry was about to learn something the hard way. Sure enough, the potions master whirled his wand, quietly chanting in an archaic and incomprehensible language, and suddenly vanished without a sound. Startled, Harry instinctively stumbled backwards; then remembering that he had seen this spell before ran to the nearest wall and pressed his back to it, ensuring that he could not be attacked from behind. Staring desperately into the seemingly empty air around him, he jumped as a voice issued out of the nothingness to his left, casting a simple tripping hex that bypassed Harry's shield (only effective against spells that created pain) and laid the young man flat on his back. Lying there, feeling the cold seep through his t-shirt as he stared at the unexpected sight of the ceiling, Harry felt all of his previous anger surge forwards and crystallise into an irate sense of determination- he would vent all of the incomprehensible, pent up emotions that he could not dispel through revenge. Feeling like he was once again duelling the potions master in the corridors, and plagued by memories of the day that they shattered the time-turner, he pushed aside any thoughts of the skills that they had been practicing and instead allowed his irritation to guide him, disregarding how dangerous this could potentially be.

Scrambling to his feet, he ignored the slight dizziness that this movement created and concentrated on the sudden, false, sensation that raw power was flowing through his veins. Pointing his wand in the direction of the kitchens, he muttered 'Accio flour!' as softly as he could, hoping that the invisible, noiseless man that lurked somewhere in the dark room did not hear him. Peering intently into his surroundings, seeing nothing but piles of furniture and streams of twirling dust motes that were illuminated by the light, he started casting all of the hexes he could think of in random directions around the room in the hope of distracting Snape, while taking savage pleasure from the showers of sparks violently bouncing off the walls. The older man returned fire consistently from a variety of locations, his accuracy not relenting despite Harry's barrage of spells, although the younger man somehow managed to dodge every retaliation- his reflexes seemingly heightened by the release of a day's worth of irritation.

Narrowly deflecting a binding spell that shot out of the ether on his right hand side, Harry finally caught sight of a lumpy white bag zooming towards him, and, stopping it mid-flight so that it hovered roughly in the middle of the room, he quickly raised his wand, knowing that once he had covered the potions master in visible white powder he would actually stand a reasonable chance of hitting him. Just as he was about to cast the spell that would explode the flour bag, he sensed a change in the air currents around him, and by the time that he realised he could hear the older man running, a cold hand had grabbed his wrist in a tight grip and forced it high over his head, making him drop his wand in his surprise. Mind reeling, he could suddenly feel the weight of Snape's body pressed against his, pinning him to the wall, and at the same time felt hot, unsteady breath grazing his neck. Harry's body, heated by the proximity of the other man, grew even warmer as a deep voice rasped haltingly in his ear.

'You stupid, foolish, woefully imbecilic boy. I know that anyone has yet to prove that you even _have_ a brain, but do you _ever_ think about the consequences of your actions?'

Not comprehending, and distracted by the strangeness of feeling sensations created by something that he could not see, Harry shook his head slowly, feeling his cheek brush against the potions master's for a millisecond as he did so.

'When suspended in the air, flour is highly combustible. One spark from your childish and exceedingly futile spells, or any of the numerous torches in this room, and it could have been the end for us both.'

An icy chill ran through the younger man, making him shiver against his friend as the impact of these words sunk in. He stared blankly into the room in front of him, dully noting the scorch marks on the walls and trying desperately not to imagine what it might have looked like had Snape not stopped him. His knees trembled, and in his shame and shock he stared at his feet, letting most of his body weight rest in the older man's grip. Without warning, the figure of Snape shimmered, mirage-like, in the air for a few seconds before solidifying, and with a now visible hand he gently lifted Harry's chin so that the younger man's eyes looked into his own.

'Lo- '

Harry had no idea what the potions master would have proceeded to say, whether conciliatory, derogatory or merely sarcastic; for as soon as his gaze met Snape's, pure, unclassifiable emotion surged through his mind, with all thought burned away he wrapped his free arm around the older man and crushed his lips against the half open ones of his teacher. For one second, a moment that filled Harry's entire body with an icy cold fluttering of panic, the other man was completely rigid- so much so that his friend, feeling no movement from the firm chest he was pressed against, did not think that he was even breathing. Inhaling shakily, the younger man just had time to register the intoxicating scent of aniseed that hovered above Snape's skin before the older man suddenly awoke from his stupor, and, leaning further into Harry's embrace, poured his entire being into a passionate, searing kiss that sent relief washing through the young man, followed by the sensation that a thousand fire imps were dancing along his body. Greedily mapping the contours of the other man's mouth with his hot tongue, and desperately pulling him as close as humanly possible, he felt intoxicated, devoid all sense of self or reality, left with nothing but desire and the feeling that nothing in his life- not even magic itself- had ever felt more natural.

--------

Meanwhile, in the warmth of the kitchens, both house-elves had sated themselves with food and conversation to the point that they were both staring contentedly at the fire in sleepy silence. Though her eyes were heavy lidded, an odd-coloured spark suddenly caught Winky's attention, and she looked on in amazement as several more shot forth from the same place. Panic instantly jolted her into alertness as she began to make out a strange object growing in the middle of the flames, whose shape gradually took on that of a bizarre, human-sized egg. Sensing that Dobby had also noticed this strange apparition, and knowing instinctively that this thing could be nothing but evil, she screamed at her friend to go and fetch help, standing trembling alone before the continually expanding, glittering thing in front of her as he disappeared with a 'pop' that was masked by the increasing roar of the now bright purple flames.

--------

Elation, joy, effervescence: Snape knew thousands of words, and none of them came close to describing what he currently experiencing, something that seemed nothing short of pure ecstasy. For once, his overworked mind was silenced, and he was completely lost in an electric physical sensation that had his lips as its epicentre and that continually ricocheted around his entire body, making him feel like he was slowly melting. All of the longing, the loneliness and torturous pain that he had experienced in the past few days was forgotten in an instant, and with the small part of his brain that was not either blissfully stunned or silently rejoicing that he hadn't forgotten how to kiss, he vowed that there was no power on earth that could possibly ever make him stop. A low moan of pleasure was inexorably drawn from him, a sound that seemed to echo in the room far louder than it should have, even causing the walls themselves to tremble.

Suddenly feeling vibrations run through his feet and bitterly cursing himself for daring to tempt fate, Snape hurriedly drew back from the younger man, who could also sense the tremors from the wall that he was pressed against. The two men exchanged a breathless, troubled glance that betrayed not only their bewilderment at the sudden movement of the castle, but also a myriad of tangled emotions that would have taken much more time to unravel than the brief moment that they had- before a burst of raw energy ripped through the bowels of the castle, shaking the structure to its foundations and jolting every one of its inhabitants to their core. To those that had lived there long enough to be able to feel the difference, it felt like something fundamental to the essence of Hogwarts was instantly shattered, leaving it vulnerable as it reeled in shock. Forced further apart by the strength of the blast, Harry and Snape looked at each other shakily as unwilling comprehension slowly settled on them.

'It's not Friday', stated the younger man in confusion, his now anxious face still flushed 'how-'

'We seem to have made a terrible mistake', the potions master stated slowly, his voice and expression taking on a hard edge brought about by a sudden burst of self-loathing as his swiftly calculating mind realised what they had overlooked. All of his happiness was instantly destroyed as he was forced to contemplate the perilous situation that his own stupidity had placed them in, and, while gathering together everything useful from the immediate vicinity, he hastily gave as objective an explanation as he was able under the weight of his self recrimination:

'We had forgotten to take into account the fact that a calendar date will fall on different days of the week, depending on which year it is. Thus, the day that the Dark Lord attacked- attacks, whilst being a Friday one year from now, is, in fact, today.'

Any vestige of the light, tingling feeling in Harry's body, or thought of anything but the threat of Voldemort, was irrevocably obliterated by the fear and adrenalin that now coursed through his veins: and picking up his wand with grim determination, he asked

'What do we do now?'.

'Our first priority is to find Dumbledore,' replied the potions master, having found the last item he had been searching for. 'He is the only one who might have a clear picture of what has happened. After that we'll have a better idea as to the optimum course of action.' Snape paused and stared at Harry, regret and resolve equally clear in his obsidian eyes. He knew absolutely, as did the other man, that any thought or even acknowledgement of what had just passed between them would have to be set aside, and, beckoning his companion towards the door with a reluctant sigh, hastened over the threshold with the words

'We have no more time to lose.'

---------------

Hi. I think I owe everyone a sincere apology. I was going to make a joke about this being the 'unlucky' thirteenth chapter, but it didn't seem to be very funny, however I tried it. I know that it's been three months since I updated this, and for that I am incredibly sorry. I was without internet for one month, and though I have been busy in the succeeding two, that is not a sufficient enough excuse. The truth is that I kept trying to write this chapter, and screwing up badly. I've had half of it written for what seems like years, but try as I might I couldn't finish it to my satisfaction. I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for ages, but it got to the point where I lost confidence in myself, hence the severe delay. It was a review from 'LegendMyth', who quite rightly chastised me for not updating, that finally forced me to confront the thing, and I hope the result is ok. I can't really tell whether it's any good or not, which is where you are warmly invited to comment, if you're not all (quite justifiably) ignoring me by now. All I can really ask is for your forgiveness, and your patience. If you think this chapter is rubbish, which is a definite possibility given its history, please tell me and I'll endeavour to re-write it. I reserve the right to cry a little, however...

I hope you've all been well, and successful, in the time that has passed since I last updated.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

As the whirling cloud of ash slowly settled on shattered floor tiles that were already strewn with broken splinters of furniture and other debris, Lord Voldemort stepped out of the smouldering ruins of a once grand fireplace; a proud, satisfied expression on his ghostly white face. In the murky, uncertain light of the few candles whose flame had survived the devastating burst of magical energy, his bare skin glistened like marble- though it was marred in hundreds of places by shallow cuts from which oozed the thin magenta rivulets that coursed down his body, making it appear as if his veins were trying to force their way out of him in terror.

As Voldemort waved his hand over the wounds, healing them all with a masochistic slowness, he glanced down at the tiny inert form lying at his feet. The man smiled emotionlessly: a small concession to the temerity of the elf, who had fought harder than many a wizard that he had duelled. Nevertheless, even though he had been weak during the regeneration process her hexes had barely had an effect on him, thanks to the arcane and excruciating spells that he had subjected himself to in preparation for his invasion of Hogwarts, the pain of which he had savoured as a test of his worth. With a magisterial flick of his right hand, he summoned the two packages that he knew had been waiting for him. Hidden well by the fawning sons of his original Death Eaters, their contents had been unharmed by his emergence from the egg. With unhurried movements he unwrapped his robe and put it on, relishing the sound of the silk rustling against his skin and utterly unconcerned that he could not feel the fabric at all. Unwrapping his wand, he looked up casually as he heard the portrait at the entrance to the kitchen creak open. Immediately a thin figure, his bearing proud in brand new Death Eater robes and mask, rushed forward and knelt at his feet eagerly.

'It is an honour to see you fully restored, my Lord', rasped his young voice as he fixed his eyes upon Voldemort's feet, knowing better than to look the man in the face. 'Everything is in place.'

'Give me your arm, young Malfoy', hissed the Dark Lord. Seizing the trembling limb that was immediately offered to him, he pushed up the loose sleeve of the boy's robes to reveal a Dark Mark that had so recently been cut into the flesh that it was still weeping.

'Does it hurt?' he intoned softly, running a fingernail over the reddened skin with a sadistic precision. The boy gasped involuntarily and nodded his head, still unwilling to make eye contact with his master.

'I am willing to suffer for your sake, my Lord.'

'A fine sentiment. Let us test it.' With this pronouncement Voldemort held his wand to the black skull that stood out so vividly on Draco's pallid flesh, and the young man had to suppress a scream as searing pain flowed into his arm, seeming to multiply in intensity as dark tentacles of pain stretched themselves out from his body and for one instant formed shadowy silhouettes of others in his mind. Almost immediately cloaked figures began to appear, creating shimmering disturbances in the air that rippled and shone. Peering at their surroundings as if they could not quite comprehend how they had managed to arrive there, the Death Eaters stood in reverent silence as their leader addressed them.

'My loyal followers. It is now time for me to take the place that has so long been denied me, and for you to reap your just rewards.' He paused, gesturing at their surroundings with a curiously detached smile upon his face. 'However, this is hardly the place in which to discuss such momentous matters, therefore let us reconvene upstairs.' With this exhortation Voldemort vanished into the ether, and his followers, too afraid of the consequences to delay obeying any order, quickly followed to him to the Great Hall and their destiny.

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Standing at the threshold of Dumbledore's office, uncomfortably aware of the presence of Snape at his side, Harry gazed into the room in horror. During his many misadventures in the castle he had come to regard the place as being like the eye of a tornado- an almost eerily calm sanctuary that looked out into the maelstrom of madness. The oak panelled walls, bearing a collocation of old headmasters and strange objects, seemed to radiate a wisdom that had always provided a blanket of safety from chaos. Now, however, the room was filled with groups of arguing, panicked professors, and the cacophony of voices seemed to drown out his own thoughts. He could not even make out Dumbledore in the crowd, and the lack of order made him wonder if the man was actually present.

As if hearing his thoughts, Dumbledore suddenly appeared on his desk with a crackle of magic that silenced the terrible din.

'If you cannot even control yourselves when I leave momentarily, how can I expect you to manage this crisis?' His normally benevolent face bore a terrible expression as he said this, and no one could bring themselves to meet his recriminating glare save Snape and Harry, who stared at him in shock. Echoing the thoughts of everyone present, the younger man spoke into the shamed silence.

'How did you do that?'

A flicker of pain momentarily overshadowed Dumbledore's blazing eyes, and his countenance appeared tired and frail. Recovering himself, he replied

'The wards have been obliterated, anyone may now apparate or disapparate as they please' in an ominous voice that promised much harm to the perpetrators. 'Dobby informed me that there was a mysterious disturbance in the kitchens, which was undoubtedly Voldemort sneaking in past the castle's defences. Regrettably, I arrived too late, and he and his followers have now entrenched themselves in the Great Hall. It is now vital that we act with expediency if we are to preserve everything that we hold dear.'

'How on earth did Voldemort get in?' warbled a shrill female voice from the crowd of teachers, though Harry could not make out who it was.

'Do you think he has time for explanations?' came another voice from the opposite side of the room, and before Dumbledore could say anything half of the Hogwarts faculty had simultaneously begun to voice their opinion, a commotion that was only muted by Snape contemptuously shoving his way through the crowd and placing the Marauders' map at the headmaster's feet. Given that they had been using the map to postulate possible battle plans, Harry was not angry that Snape had taken it out of his bag, merely impressed at the man's foresight.

'Sir', began the potions master in a smooth icy tone that was a welcome antidote to his colleagues' hysteria, as Dumbledore climbed nimbly down off his desk. 'I thought this might be of use. As you can see, the way in which Death Eaters are positioned suggests that the best location to attack from would probably be here.' He pointed a long slender finger at a place on the map that Harry could not see, and the young man wove his way through the throng of his professors to get a better view, feeling justified in shouldering aside Trelawney, who was distractedly muttering dark predictions concerning the end of the world, as he did so.

'That is a sound idea, Severus, and we shall proceed down there almost immediately.' concluded the headmaster, as Harry reached the desk. 'However, you and the other heads of houses must first take care of your students, and only join us once they are safe.'

'I must protest' cut in Snape hastily, 'surely I can be of significantly more use on the front line?' Seeing his other staff members on the point of adding their own protest to Snape's, Dumbledore quickly continued his speech, in a firmer voice that belied fire and iron.

'We have no time to waste on disunity or doubt. You are some of the strongest wizards I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with, and I need you all now to put the needs of the students first, as you have done so often in the past. Heads of Houses _will_ proceed immediately to the dormitories and create portkeys to ensure the safe passage of their students to the Ministry of Magic, where Dobby and the Aurors are waiting to give them further instructions. Tell them', here he stopped and sighed, 'tell all of those older students willing and able to fight to remain in the castle, and once everyone else is safe proceed in one group to the Great Hall, remaining on your guard at all times. The rest of you will follow me. Voldemort is evidently unaware that there may still be some lingering magic left in the castle that could aid us, and we may be able to surprise him to our advantage.'

With this, the faculty seemed to regain its collective self possession, and the four heads of house disapparated without further delay, each one inwardly recoiling at their newfound ability to do so within the castle. Before he left, Snape shot an involuntary glance at Harry and was disconcerted, yet heartened, to find the young man's bright emerald eyes gazing back at him. With an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, the potions master acknowledged his pupil, and, resolutely ignoring the weight that seemed to thud into the pit of his stomach as he contemplated what the young man was about to face, turned his back and vanished without a sound.

With a keen sense of purpose Dumbledore turned back to the Marauders' map, and staring sadly at the name 'Tom Riddle' that stood firmly in the centre of the Great Hall, gave swift, precise orders to all the people that remained in his office. This done, he strode out of the room with them in tow, giving Harry a surreptitious pat of reassurance as he did so. As Harry hastened down the staircase with the others, glad that the plan did not involve apparition as it gave him time to compose himself, he prayed that his friends were safe and that he would be strong enough to protect them when the need arose. A cool sense of determination replaced his nerves as he vowed to end the conflict once and for all, so that he would never again find himself fearing for the lives of those he loved, or face the prospect of them being torn away from him. Despite the severity of his previous encounters Harry's courage never wavered; the only change to his attitude was that he no longer wondered at including Snape among those he was concerned for.

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Standing in the Great Hall for the first time since he had been a student at Hogwarts, Voldemort watched in satisfaction as his followers arranged themselves at strategic places; solemn wraith-like figures in black who violated the usually grand and festive atmosphere of the Hall with their mechanical movements, each one intent on perfecting his or her subservience. They had built two giant barricades near the entrances at either end of the spacious room: jagged pyres of aged tables and benches that extended mocking tongues of wood to the cloudy night sky obscuring the ceiling. Standing on the bare stone floor in the middle of the room, watching the organised chaos that he had ordered and feeling the momentousness of the occasion loosen his tongue, the Dark Lord addressed his followers in an imperious voice that was magnified by the hollows and arches of the grand hall.

'Almost eighteen years ago, a small insignificant family managed to defeat the great Lord Voldemort through their unwitting use of the oldest of magics. Now, despite everything that has happened, those blundering fools who modestly purport to be on the side of righteousness have failed to realise that the same magics may be used against them!' He paused to revel in his own brilliance, before continuing his explanation to his followers, only a few of whom had been trusted with the complete plan. 'Magic, though a magnificent thing, is innately weak due to the fact that it takes its power from the human spirit, and is therefore irrevocably tied to human nature and its most fundamental beliefs. Thus innate precepts, unshakeable ideas that man has clung to since before he even possessed a language with which to express them, such as the fundamental faith in the innocence of anything unborn, have been tied into magic from the very beginning. No defensive spell ever created could possibly recognise a threat in something so harmless, so _insignificant_, as an egg.' He smiled insanely, acknowledging the shocked looks of his subordinates, who knew what kinds of torture and black wizardry were required to bring someone close enough to death that they could be concealed and reborn in such a way. 'As you might have realised, the magical shell of the egg provided a shield which masked my true nature from the invasive scans of the castle's defences, enabling me to pass through them undetected. My sudden emergence within the very spells that were designed to repel me caused them to warp themselves, fragmenting as they attempted to bend backwards and extract the malicious presence within their very core, shattering all of the castle's united protective magics as they did so. It was so pathetically predictable that those pitiful fools would join together all of the wards in the belief that it would make them stronger.' His smile broadened, revealing fang-like teeth. 'And so united they fall...'

'If nothing else, Tom, you always were a good scholar.'

The calm voice of Dumbledore from behind him momentarily discomposed Voldemort, and wheeling around in surprise he forgot both his explanation and his aspirations to slowly humiliate his former professor, instead screaming 'Get him!' at his Death Eaters, with a shrill cry that focused all of their attention on the headmaster and ensured that they were completely surprised when the other half of Hogwarts' small force apparated in behind them. Hearing the thuds from the back of the room as the first of his forces were hit with stunning spells, Voldemort turned back around just in time to shield himself from an optimistic hex sent his way by professor Sprout, who now looked terrified to have captured his attention. She was spared his retribution, however, as a dozen spells from her colleagues quickly followed hers, and Voldemort was forced to retreat to a deserted spot on the barricade, conscious of the fact that though he was impervious to most minor curses he would be unable withstand such a large volume at once. Aware that they had to allow time for the heads of house to evacuate the students, every wizard there threw themselves into the fray, made desperate with the knowledge that this was the last chance they would have to turn the course of events their way.

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Arriving in the Slytherin common room, Snape already knew what he would find. The majority of the lower years gaped at him in astonishment from small frightened huddles that had formed around the soft green sofas and hard backed velvet-covered chairs, but there were few older students present. The ones who were had slightly sullen expressions on their faces, as if they were resigned to having done the right thing and were now merely awaiting a swift end at the hands of their former friends. Disappointed more in himself than in his missing students, in that he had not made more of an effort to inspire their loyalty after he had been discovered as a spy, Snape immediately began preparations to enable the escape of the remaining few, uncomfortably conscious of the need to get back to Harry.

'All those in year four and below will proceed directly to the Ministry of Magic via this portkey' began the potions master, indicating the book that he held in his left hand. 'As for the rest of you, I am giving you a choice. The choice that none of the Dark Lord's followers will ever have. You may flee to safety, or you may stay and fight. Do not be fooled into thinking that the battle will be glorious: you will be faced with the constant presence of blood and death, and the only thing preventing it from being your own will be your wits and magical skill. Nevertheless, you all know what is at stake, and there is much honour in taking the right course of action, even if it is not the easy one. Remember that you will have to live with the consequences of your choice.. something with which I am sure your absent peers are already familiar.' He intoned his words with deliberation, careful to look each student in the eyes as he exhorted them to follow him into battle, determined not to fail them by letting the weight of his past mistakes weaken his stance or distort his expression. One by one, the students who were eligible drew their wands and moved away from the portkey that their younger friends now crowded around, fear and determination contending for primacy in their youthful faces.

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The battle was more brutal than anything Harry had ever experienced, a world apart from the relatively innocent duelling club that he had once attended in the same room. As soon as the Death Eaters had realised that they were pinned down by the surprise pincer movement there had been a flurry of disapparitions, and the young man felt slightly drunk as the air became full of twirling black robes- wizards frantically appearing and disappearing in futile efforts to best their opponents. The already dim light from the cloudy ceiling was further distorted by a thick haze of smoke created by the seemingly constant barrage of spells from either side, and in the shadowy uncertainty of battle it became increasingly hard to distinguish friend from foe. The defending force had taken up positions near one of the barricades, giving them ample opportunities for cover should a Death Eater suddenly appear next to them, and were now repelling all advances with flair and fortitude.

Harry began working his way through the Slytherin students almost methodically, conscious of the fact that his teachers were trying to spare him encounters with those more experienced in killing. Standing with the unconscious Crabbe and Goyle in a plump heap at his feet, easily blocking almost half-hearted spells from Nott, he sensed that Dumbledore was close to his left, and sneaking a glance he saw the fearsome wizard easily best Lucius Malfoy, paralysing the snarling blonde-haired man and lashing him to the barricade with ropes of blue-green fire. Concentrating once more on his own duel, Harry finally managed to slip a hex in past Nott's shield, and, leaving him writhing on the floor, quickly surveyed the room to see where he could be of the most assistance. Several of his teachers were bleeding heavily but were being tended to by an efficient Madame Pomfrey under the cover of Lupin's protective spells, and seemed to have inflicted equal, if not greater damage upon their opponents, who were devoid of the care which the Hogwarts staff showed each other, forced instead to attempt to heal themselves. Accustomed to Snape's unfavourable assessment of any possible battle between the two sides, this degree of success made Harry uncomfortably suspicious, and, glancing around with an increasing sense of foreboding, he perceived the shadowy silhouette of Voldemort standing in the most remote corner of the room, surrounded by a protective ring of Death Eaters and not showing any inclination to participate in the fight. Knowing that his professors could spare him momentarily, he sprinted away from the protection of the barricade, hoping that he could reach the other side of the Hall before anyone managed to send a hex in his direction.

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It was only through a torturous exertion of willpower that Snape had prevented himself from leaving his students in the care of McGonagall and apparating down to Harry's side immediately. With every step of the arduously long walk down to the Great Hall in the company of the other teachers and their pupils, the potions master was tormented by visions of Voldemort obliterating possibly the only thing in life that he now cared for; the boy's lifeless body repeatedly thudding onto the floor of his imagination in a broken heap. He cursed himself for this weakness, no, this all-encompassing anxiety that made his body feel like frozen metal that burned to the touch, and made it impossible to formulate an impartial battle plan. Yet the moment of arrival came too soon, for as soon as his mind had made sense of the scene in front of him, it revealed what he feared the most.

Snape saw the Hogwarts defenders clustered around the leftmost barricade- now pitted with deep brown furrows where spells had seared the ancient wood-, determinedly repelling all attacks from Death Eaters apparating in flurries of black all around them. Through the perversely sweet-smelling haze created by the smoking barricade, the potions master could just discern Dumbledore standing beside a pile of bound, unconscious men in masks, quietly chanting a protective charm around professor Vector while the diminutive woman duelled an increasingly fatigued figure in torn robes. He dimly registered the other heads of house and their students fanning out in front of him, merging into the chaos and swiftly aiding their tired allies. Snape gazed around the entire room, noting the alarming extent to which the staid grey stone floor was scorched and bloodstained, desperately searching for Harry in amongst the blurry black figures and the colourful flashes of deadly curses that penetrated the ominous grey smog.

Seeing some of the wizards nearby turn as a purposeful black blur streamed past, the potions master suddenly caught sight of Harry sprinting down the Hall to his right, and for one bizarre second he almost smiled to himself- he had seen the boy running to a class he was late for so many times that he was momentarily transported to a far happier scenario. Panic soon followed, however, as he saw the object of Harry's intent, and ignoring all of his training he ran as fast as he could after him, praying that he could reach the boy in time to stop his nightmares becoming a reality. As he ran what seemed like a marathon's distance, the older man vented his fearful fury on the Death Eaters in his path, reserving his most unpleasant hexes for those aiming curses at Harry's back.

Despite attracting the attention of half the room's combatants, Harry managed to reach the other barricade unmolested, and arrived in clear view of the Dark Lord at the same time that a quivering Womtail apparated to the man's side, whispering something in Voldemort's skeletal ear that produced a look of calm contentment on the man's pallid face. Seeing Harry, the would-be conqueror graced him with a mocking wave before touching his wand to Wormtail's Dark Mark and disappearing, taking all of his followers with him. An eerily peaceful silence swiftly ensued, broken only by the soft insistent crackle of burning wood and the occasional groan of pain from a bound captive. Standing perplexed, Harry could not fathom why Voldemort had retreated, but knew enough about the man's crazed intellect to realise that it was anything but a cause for hope. Realising that he was staring vacantly at the oak panelled wall, he was just about to return to Dumbledore when he heard frenzied footsteps approaching behind him, and turned round just in time for the breathless Snape to seize him by the shoulders and shake him roughly.

'What did you think you were doing?' wheezed the potions master violently.

'Voldemort's gone' replied Harry, his voice fading as he slowly realised that this was the first time that they had been face to face since the incident in the dungeons. Snape was evidently thinking the same thing, as in place of a snide retort he merely squeezed his pupil's shoulders comfortingly, though with a force that belied his inner turmoil, and looked into his bright green eyes with a penetrating gaze that smouldered to the depths of Harry's soul and momentarily made him forget the battle. Noticing a smudge of dirt staining the boy's flushed complexion, he was just about to unthinkingly brush it away from his soft skin when he was interrupted by Dumbledore, who stood on top of the smoking barricade and signalled for everyone's attention.

'It appears that Voldemort has tired of battle and gone for a stroll in the castle's grounds', began Dumbledore, waving the Marauder's map at the assembled defenders, all of whom looked exhausted but were concentrating fiercely.

'He has clearly gone to let reinforcements into Hogwarts, and I suggest we try to stop them before we are overrun. Poppy, you and Remus will take the wounded to the infirmary and join the rest of us outside when you can. You have all done Hogwarts proud so far. I know it is a lot to ask, but for the sake of us all I need you to strive a little longer, and to once again acquit yourselves with the same courage and skill that you have shown already. We will proceed directly outside; stick together and use your superior knowledge of the terrain to your advantage. I need not remind you what is at stake, so let me just say, _animae exardesco!_'

Dumbledore clapped his hands and a fine white mist fell on the crowd, each one of whom suddenly felt reinvigorated and ready for battle. Harry grinned at the headmaster as he saw the older man wink at him, and looking around at the little battle force as they marched towards the castle's entrance he saw that everyone, no matter how bloodstained, bore determined expressions and had wands at the ready. He felt a warm wave of relief run through him as he saw Hermione, Ron and Neville among the slightly bedraggled figures, and exchanging glances with them allowed himself to feel a momentary surge of hope.

This was short-lived, however, as arriving at the once-forbidding doorway of the castle Harry came to an abrupt halt, gaping at the grounds in horror. In the distance, but too distinct to leave any room for doubt, an army of giants came lumbering unimpeded through the now open gates, carrying grotesquely large clubs and spears that ten wizards together could not have lifted. Their deep, primitive grunts carried through the chill night air, and Harry could not tell whether his companions' shivering was caused by the temperature or by fear. Suddenly realising that most of Voldemort's force had been unable to apparate into Hogwarts, he had an unpleasant sense of prescience that was soon justified by the additional sight of Dementors, Inferii and Vampires streaming onto the path that led to the castle, their leaders carrying burning torches that cast contorted shadows on their ugly faces and gave the defenders enough light to grasp the horrifying scale of the invading force. There was no doubt that they were vastly outnumbered, and the only viable option now left to them was to find Voldemort and attempt to stem the impending atrocity at its source.

As one force, the Hogwarts defenders streamed onto the dewy grass, each one gradually becoming a shadowy wraith as they progressed further and further away from the comforting lights of the castle. Under the cloudy, ominous night sky, through which the quarter moon occasionally shone her disapproving frown, they split into smaller bands of fighters, each one moving off under the direction of an older witch or wizard toward a distant foe. Advancing on the main cluster of invaders, Harry fell straight into the fray, quickly dispatching a horde of sinister Dementors with a radiant Patronus that shone defiance at the terrified stars and warmed the hearts of those running into battle behind him. Turning around, he heard rather than saw Professor McGonagall and Narcissa hurling spells and insults at each other in equal measure, and seeing that most of the duels in his vicinity were being won by the defenders he peered further into the darkness in an attempt to discern Voldemort's whereabouts. Staring down the grassy slope to the woods by the lake, he was momentarily puzzled to see several familiar figures clustered around a tree swaying violently in the breeze, seeming to move in disjointed spurts thanks to the coloured strobe effect of their spells. Horrified, Harry suddenly realised that Hermione and Ron had in fact cornered a large, angrily flailing giant by themselves, and though he saw Madam Hooch come to their aid he still raced in their direction, trying desperately not to be unbalanced by the vibrations from the giants' footsteps as he did so. Harry slowed as he approached them, and seeing that Hermione's competent spell-work would keep the lumbering giant at bay for a while, he entered the fringes of the forest and began cautiously circling around the group, hoping to attain a suitable position with which to take their foe by surprise.

In fact, so focused was he on his destination and tactical calculations that he failed to discern the telltale snap of a dead twig behind him, and before his mind could even register alarm a tripping hex had sent Harry sprawling on the ground, causing him to inhale some of the musky-tasting loam as he landed face first. Furious at himself for being caught off-guard, Harry twisted himself over onto his back and stared up at an all too familiar face, his internal organs liquefying in horror as he made out her unmistakeable features in the darkness. Black hatred quickly replaced this emotion, however, and spitting the dirt he was choking on into Bellatrix's face, he rolled over once more and scrambled to his feet as she clawed at her eyes, shrieking. Steadying himself against the coarse bark of a nearby tree, Harry let out an inadvertent feral snarl as he slashed the air with his wand, sending a binding hex that stopped his hated enemy in her mad whirling. This was momentary, however, as she dissolved the bonds with a wandless spell and sent jet after jet of fire in his direction, scorching the earth around the boy's feet as he leapt away. Harry saw her insane grin in the light of the flames, and felt a hardness within his soul that he had never before experienced. All of the pain at Sirius' death had suddenly coalesced into one hard coal-like lump of rage, and without even considering his actions he opened his mouth and the words 'Avadra Kevadra' streamed out, rolling in Bellatrix's direction with a jet of sinister green fire.

The spell missed by several metres, mainly due to the fact that his hand was shaking violently with rage, and Bellatrix's high pitched cackling rang through the woodland.

'Is that the best you can do, little boy?'

She flicked her wand at him, almost indolently, and Harry, drained by his earlier fury, could not react quick enough to prevent her attack, and he observed rather than felt the spell tear through his clothes and rip down the skin of his abdomen. Watching the boy stagger in delayed shock, the witch inclined her head to one side and regarded him with eyes that glinted malevolently in the light of the fires still burning among the ferns on the forest floor. 'It's a wonder you outlived your pathetic god-'

The dishevelled, manic woman was stopped mid-speech by a tortured tearing sound that was plainly audible above the din of battle, as if nature herself was venting her fury at the injustices she saw. Turning around, Bellatrix barely had time for a blood-curdling scream before the ancient oak tree, severed from its base by the force of Harry's badly aimed spell, came toppling down on top of her with a crash that sent shockwaves through the castle's grounds. The forest seemed to stagger momentarily, and leaves and branches of neighbouring trees that appeared a sombre grey in the dying firelight cascaded down around their fallen brother as if in a shower of sympathy. Forcing himself to look at the oak's body, which lay in a groove carved through the soft, ridged soil by the weight of its fall, Harry saw several impenetrable pools of darkness around its base, any one of which could have been the broken body of his enemy. He had no doubt that she was dead; the unmistakeable noises he had heard as the tree fell on her were not concurrent with her survival, and would always be indelibly etched on his consciousness. The boy felt curiously empty, bereft of both his rage and any sense of triumph, and though he was glad to have avenged his beloved godfather he was strangely saddened to have killed her. Standing at the edge of the forest, turning almost instinctively away from the scene and back towards a view of the castle, the young man forgot the urgency of battle as he contemplated what had just happened, the taste of the loam in his mouth a bitter insistence of the reality of all he had experienced.

Turning his mindless gaze towards the deep gash in his side, the blood from which shone maliciously in the muted wand-light he used to inspect it, Harry slowly became aware of a dull throb of pain insidiously penetrating his receding adrenalin rush, and of the sounds of battle increasing around him. He was about to heal the wound by magic when the raw screams of a familiar voice tore themselves through his consciousness, forcing him to snap his head upright and desperately scan the battlefield for the source of the cries, each one of which sent a dagger-sharp icicle into the regions of his heart. Injury forgotten, the only thing that the young man felt was an overwhelming sense of nausea as he caught sight of several robed figures by the side of the lake, illuminated by the continual hexes that their master sent at a figure on the ground who was struggling to rise.

Before Harry even realised what he was doing, his tired legs were pounding the churned up turf and the words of a protective charm were falling from his bloody lips. He looked around for Ron and Hermione as he ran, but seeing only the bound body of an unconscious giant in the place that they had been, he realised with a mixture of relief and regret that they had gone back towards the castle in search of new battles. It seemed as if it took an eternity to reach the small cluster of Death Eaters, who were standing in reverent silence as they watched Voldemort's sadistic demonstration. Without giving a thought to any of the things he had learned from the man currently writhing on the ground, Harry barrelled straight through the rigid figures with a blasting charm that sent the two closest spiralling through the air in shadowy whirls, and threw himself over Snape just as Voldemort once again sent the Cruciatus curse in the older man's direction. For one long moment the world turned white, and the tired boy was only able to maintain enough consciousness to register the cold, rigid contours of the potions master in his arms.

Groaning as he felt the effects of the receding curse over every inch of his fatigued body, Harry quickly checked the potion master's pulse and was relieved to find a weak, yet steady beat beneath the sallow skin at his arched neck. Had the boy more time for reflection, he might have observed that Snape's semi-conscious body looked almost peaceful, and his eyelids fluttered open as if he was leisurely awaking from a peaceful dream. Hope surged through the younger man, something which was immediately quelled by the sudden look of alarm in the potion master's glazed eyes. Harry turned over as fast as his aching limbs would allow, but was only in time to watch helplessly as Voldemort leaned down slowly, savouring the moment, and plucked Harry's wand from the ground with a bony white hand. The ring of Death Eaters had once again closed in, and looking up he could see a ring of deathly ivory masks obscuring the night sky and shining mercilessly in the light from their illuminated wands, each one of which was pointed directly at Harry's heart.

'I would not have you protect this worthless fool by dying for him, boy' hissed Voldemort, his face contorted by a twisted parody of a smile. 'I shall not make that mistake twice. Rise, and you may have the pleasure of watching him die before I send you to join him.' With these words one of his followers hauled Harry up by the scruff of the neck, and feeling utterly hopeless the boy desperately searched his pockets for any sort of weapon as he tried not to choke. Feeling something unexpectedly sharp in his jeans pocket, and knowing that he had only seconds with which to save Snape's life, Harry wrenched himself away from his captor with an almost superhuman force and lunged at Voldemort with the object he had clasped in his left hand, plunging it deep into the centre of the monster's chest. As he struck, Harry felt a surge of emotion rush through his veins, obliterating all other thoughts, memories or feelings. Perversely, it was not hate, desperation or fear- all the boy could feel was the incredible, and unexpected, depth of his love for Snape, and the sense that every fibre of his being was only worth sustaining if it could be used to save the man he cared for more than life itself.

Having felt the inadequate nature of his weapon as he struck, Harry's sole aim had been to buy the potions master enough time to escape, but on seeing the slightly perplexed, yet clearly untroubled expression on Voldemort's far-too-close face he realised with a terrible despair flooding his soul that he had completely failed.

Seizing the boy with an arm that had lost none of its preternatural strength, the creature that was Tom Riddle leered into Harry's face, his icy cold breath bruising the younger man's flushed skin. 'You were always stupid, boy, but this time you appear to have surpassed yourself. Did you really think,' he hissed, turning to examine his chest disdainfully, 'that you could vanquish the great Lord Voldemort with, let us see... oh, how _pitiful_, a needle?' Maintaining his painfully tight grip on Harry, and digging in his granite-like fingernails for good measure, Voldemort grasped the needle, protruding almost plaintively from a fold in his black robes, and made to extract it. As soon as his fingers touched the tiny sliver of metal, however, a sickened expression contorted his pallid face, and Harry watched in confusion as the needle began to glow an ethereal gold colour. Mystified, the younger man wrenched himself away from the Dark Lord's weakening grip but could not refrain from gazing on as the man's expression grew more and more panicked, his once proud bearing withering as he slowly crumpled onto the floor. Recovering his senses, Harry darted in and grabbed his wand from the prone man's pocket, half expecting the Death Eaters to attack him from behind as he did so. A swift glance behind him, however, revealed that every robed figure there was grasping its right arm and doubling over in apparent agony, small whimpers audible from the immobile porcelain lips of those figures closest to Harry.

The boy turned his astounded eyes back to Voldemort, who was now shrinking into himself at an increasingly accelerated rate, looking like the Muggle television footage Harry had once seen of a flower blooming in reverse. Soon, there was nothing left but a twitching pile of robes, barely moving in the wandlight, and Harry was just about to venture forth and investigate when an blinding flash of light erupted from the disordered heap of fabric, accompanied by a phenomenally strong blast of magical energy that rattled every bone in the young man's body and rippled outwards into the shadows. Where once there stood the most feared man in the entire Wizarding world, there was now nothing but a small patch of burned earth, emitting gentle wisps of smoke that smelled of camphor and were quickly blown away by the soft night breeze without any resistance. Baffled, but soon elated as the distant cheers of his fellow fighters from all over the castle's grounds confirmed that the Dark Lord was no more, Harry turned around with renewed confidence, expecting to confront the rest of the Death Eaters who were surely in no position to continue the fight.

His emotions quickly reverted to panic, however, as he found that he was utterly alone, standing on an empty patch of damp grass next to the uneven pebbles of the lake shore, with only the reflected light of his wand on the softly rippling water for company. Harry's panic quickly deepened as he caught sight of similar burn marks on the grass where the Death Eaters had been standing, and in a moment of awful clarity realised that they had all suffered the same fate as their master. Nausea overwhelmed him, and the boy had to fight to keep himself from doubling over as he faced the terrible possibility that Snape, a former Death Eater, had been similarly afflicted. Where once he had felt that he had the strength to keep fighting no matter what the opposition, Harry now felt his soul was slowly being wrenched apart, and every atom of his being dissolved into the frigid night air to be dispersed wherever the careless breeze should wish. For, having realised that he was utterly, irrevocably in love with Snape only in time to have been the agent of the man's destruction, there seemed no point to his existence, and a black ooze seemed to drip from his aching heart and saturate his body in bitter misery. He was too distraught to even be startled by the sudden apparition of Dumbledore by his side, or to do anything but gaze hollowly at the man when he placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and forced the boy to look into his luminous cerulean eyes.  
'My boy', said Dumbledore softly, 'it is finally over'. Harry stared wordlessly at the headmaster's long white beard, noting uselessly that a patch on the right hand side was missing. He was unable to think of a single thing to say in reply, and, sensing this, the older man continued to speak, gently coaxing the younger back into awareness of the world around him.

'Words cannot possibly express how proud I am of you, although I believe that in the coming days many more articulate than I will voice their gratitude, and I can only offer you my humble apologies for not being able to extricate myself from battle in time to assist you. I cannot presume to understand what happened here between you and Tom, but the magical burst we all felt can only mean that he has met his end once and for all. Poor boy', mused Dumbledore, turning his attention to the scarred earth by Harry's side, and pausing as something caught his eye.

'Curious', he muttered, taking his hand from the younger man and bending down to extract something that glowed faintly between clumps of tortured earth. Standing upright once more, Dumbledore revolved the needle between two fingers and smiled softly, looking at Harry with a sincere warmth in his expression.

'Helga Hufflepuff was a remarkable woman, though many saw her reluctance to engage in any sort of conflict as a sign of weakness. She constantly emphasised the need for harmony between all of the castle's founders, stressing that that their survival depended on unity, and was deeply disappointed by Salazar's angry departure. What few people know, however, is that shortly before he left Helga devised a devious method of resolving the quarrel between Slytherin and Gryffindor, one that would have undoubtedly worked had she only had the time to put it into practice.' The headmaster paused briefly, examining the point of the needle in the light from Harry's wand with an expert eye. 'Knowing that love was more powerful than any other force in this or the Muggle world, Helga created something that would make whoever was touched by it conscious of the latent love they bore for others, believing that once Godric and Salazar realised the depth of the affection they felt for each other it would be impossible for them to sustain a quarrel. Unfortunately, Slytherin left before she had a chance to test her theory, and the needle was passed down, unused, to each of the castle's subsequent guardians, who for many years believed it to be merely a relic of Helga's passion for embroidery. In fact, I only stumbled across its true purpose by accident, and I believe that you have had the somewhat dubious honour of being the first to test it. Unfortunately for Tom Riddle, the life he chose required the eradication of any emotion save hatred from his heart, and as such the needle must have ripped apart his very soul in a vain search for love that had long since been purged. It appears that his most ardent followers, bound to him by the Dark Mark and similarly devoid of feeling, have shared his fate, though the more recent initiates have mercifully been spared.'

Harry's mind dimly registered this through the fog of his grief, and he was able to recognise a faint feeling of pity within him as he gazed at the needle's shining point. Seemingly unaware of any change, Dumbledore continued to talk, attempting to slowly steer the young man in the direction of the castle as he did so. 'We have yet to decide what to do with the captives, and I would much appreciate your assistance in that decision, as you have demonstrated a capability and maturity far beyond your years. As for our forces, I believe that they are tending to the wounded and preparing to return inside, though they are all stubbornly insistent that they wait for your arrival before they do so.' The headmaster chuckled softly as he added, 'I even had to tie professor Snape to a stretcher to prevent him attempting to return to your side, which were most inadvisable given his weak condition.'

Such was the extent of Harry's shock that at this pronouncement that the meaning of Dumbledore's words only filtered into his brain after several seconds, leaving him feeling as if the world had suddenly fallen from beneath his feet and he was left in frozen suspension in a vast empty universe, separated from everything that was rational and familiar. 

'WHAT?' he croaked, physically unable to articulate anything further under the barrage of emotions that assaulted him: his tongue feeling thick and immovable in his painfully dry mouth and face contorting almost comically as a thousand different expressions contended for primacy.

'Professor Snape was able to apparate to my side in order to alert me to the danger you were in, but subsequently collapsed due to the severity of his experiences. Therefore it seemed only reasonable to forbid him to move before he had recovered' replied the headmaster in what a cynical person might have thought a disingenuous voice. Harry gaped at Dumbledore, a disbelieving grin upturning his open mouth as a blazing warmth fizzed upwards from his feet to overwhelm his brain with a blistering speed that made him feel dizzy, and forgetting everything else the young man vanished into the thin air, leaving a wryly amused headmaster gazing into the empty space that he had occupied.

Harry blinked as the assembled defenders cheered at his arrival in their midst, the sheer exuberance of their noise a startling contrast to his experiences over the past few hours. Looking around frantically, he saw a battered but grinning Ron to his left, contentedly sitting on what appeared to be the unconsious body of Draco Malfoy and stroking the hair of Hermione, who sat exhausted on the grass by his side.

'Where's Snape?' Harry squeaked as he careered up to them.

'Over there, mate', said Ron, perplexed but knowing better than to delay Harry in this mood.

Looking through the crowd of people, the boy who felt truly alive for the first time perceived Madam Pomfrey kneeling on the grass behind them, struggling to restrain an indignant figure seated on a stretcher who was repeatedly attempting to rise. Feeling as though a rough iron ball had lodged itself in his throat, Harry walked slowly over to the stretcher, not even sensing the people in front of him move almost reverently out of his way, too focused was he on his destination and the odd sensation that everything was moving in fuzzily slow motion.

Reaching the foot of the stretcher, Harry sank onto his knees and gazed soundlessly into the fathomless obsidian eyes of the man sat upon it, who had frozen rigid as soon as he saw the younger man approach. Harry studied every feature of Snape's emotionless face, from the bruise on his left temple to the startlingly red cut on his swollen bottom lip; the boy's heart so full of joy that it threatened to burst should he speak or move an inch. Harry knew, and marvelled that he had not known before, that he loved the man in front of him in a passionate, fascinatingly terrifying way that he had not even believed possible, and that furthermore he desired nothing more in life than to be able to spend every waking minute with him- how could he not, when he felt as if his soul had metamorphosed into a shower of shining sparks every time he was the subject of Snape's penetrating stare? Controlled by some force deep within himself, Harry began to speak without thinking, quickly losing his trepidation as he realised that his words were almost engraved upon his heart.

'I don't know how it took me so long to realise this, but I love you. I love you with more of my heart than I ever thought I even possessed, and, if it's not too much to ask, I think I could spend the rest of my life with you.'

Snape, who had been struck dumb by the strength of his sincere relief, and unwilling to break the silence lest it should lead to him somehow losing the young man again, reeled inwardly as a dizzying wave of joy coursed through his veins, making him feel as if butterbeer flowed there in place of blood. The potions master giddily realised that for the first time he could remember he was utterly free, and although the true scope of this was still beyond the bounds of his comprehension, he understood that he was now not only able to love Harry openly and without restraint, but to also dare to hope that he might be loved in return. Rather than attempting to articulate any of this, however, Snape replied

'Well, you won't get very far if I remain tied up, will you Potter?' , fighting to keep the levity out of his silky voice as he spoke, and contemplating the younger man with eyes that sparkled like polished granite.

Grinning, and feeling as if he were made of pure happiness, Harry dissolved the bonds tying Snape to the stretcher and enveloped him in a tight embrace, being careful not to worsen the older man's injuries as he did so. Drawing back to gaze at the potion master's face in closer proximity, Harry could not help but roll his eyes at the conflict between affection and propriety he saw reflected in the older man's expression. Not caring that most of the castle's defenders were staring at them with varying degrees of subtlety, Harry inclined his head and captured Snape's lips in a kiss of such searing intensity that the other man abandoned his scruples at being observed and responded passionately, deepening the embrace until both men forgot their surroundings completely, aware only of each other and their mutually requited affection. They were so oblivious, in fact, that they failed to hear the giggles and catcalls from the jubilant defensive force, as well as a distinctly audible, 'oh, _bloody _hell', from a startled voice that could only have been Ron's.

Eventually forced to withdraw by the overwhelming strength of his emotion rather than his embarrasment, Snape looked at the younger man and saw both the past and future versions reflected in the Harry that sat in front of him, and knew in his contentment that he loved them all equally.

'So?' said Harry softly, gazing at his former professor with a tender, if slightly mocking expression. 'Am I to receive a more articulate response to my proposal? _Would_ you like to see more of me?'

Snape returned the young man's gaze with a familiar glint in his eye, and paused for a second before replying

'I think I could tolerate that.'

XIVXIVXIVXIV

Greetings, and Happy Easter to everyone. There is no possible way to apologise for the delay in updating this story, as even to say that it has been too long since I last posted anything would be a glaring understatement. Nevertheless, I am sorry, and I apologise for the parts in this chapter where I appear to have substituted quality for expediency- I decided that at this stage posting something was better than nothing at all. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far, and that you will perhaps do me the honour of commenting and staying tuned for the epilogue which shall follow shortly. (Is that skeptical laughter I hear..?) Best wishes, IL.


	15. Epilogue

Exhausted after a long day's teaching that had seemed to be nothing but a procession of embarrassing accidents on the part of his students, including one rather entertaining episode involving two second years, a grindylow and a bottle of snake oil, Harry stumbled into Snape's office uninvited and flopped down onto the deceptively comfortable sofa, sighing with relief as he did so. He immediately drooped sideways and closed his eyes, snuggling down into the furniture's soft worn fabric as he curled into a ball, all the while remaining blissfully unaware of Snape's disapproving glance at his dirty shoes on the previously clean cushions.

Gazing from where he leant casually on his desk, for in truth he had been awaiting the younger man's arrival rather than marking essays, Snape's frown softened as he watched the serene countenance of his lover, a sight he still did not yet dare to take for granted.

Harry's natural energy soon urged him awake, however, and the young man jolted upright again, his sparkling eyes returning his partner's stare as an accompanying smile graced his full red lips. He remained content in silent contemplation of the potions master for several seconds, before a sudden glimpse of the gaudy clock affixed somewhat jauntily to the wall behind the older man's head distracted Harry from far more pleasant chains of thought.

Not taking his eyes of the timepiece, he softly murmured

'was there something I was supposed to do today?': a question which was directed as much to the gaudy gold and red monstrosity as to the other man.

Used to Harry's slightly erratic organisation, Snape rolled his eyes at the younger man's puzzlement and glanced at the diary open on his desk before replying,

'Not that I know of, unless disturbing my peace and making a mess of my furniture was more of a priority than usual.'

Grinning and turning his gaze back to the older man, Harry put his nagging doubts aside and asked

'What do you want to do this evening?', happiness making his voice light as the sight of the man he loved dissipated the day's turmoil.

'Can't we just have a peaceful night in? Your youthful exuberance is touching, but attempting to drill the rudiments of potions into those little brats has exhausted me' Snape replied, in a voice whose rich melodious tone belied his insincerity and profound happiness at Harry's presence.

'I thought you had NEWT level students for all of today's lessons?' responded Harry playfully, gazing fondly at the older man's mock-irritated expression.

'I did. They're all as incompetent as each other.' A hint of sarcasm crept into Snape's velvety tones as he continued, 'although I seem to remember you surpassed them all in terms of ability…..and by that I mean lack thereof….'

The potions master maintained a solemn frown but Harry, by now a proficient student of the older man's expressions, saw the humour radiating from his obsidian eyes, something that became all the more apparent as the older man stepped closer towards him.

'Well, _professor_,' the younger man responded in a lower tone, rising slowly and deliberately from the sofa, 'you should know by now that my talents lie elsewhere'.

'Really? ….' Snape's challenge was abruptly cut off, however, as Harry quickly covered the remaining distance between them and caught the older man in a passionate embrace, spinning his companion around and eagerly fastening his lips to the older man's. Taken by surprise, Snape staggered slowly backward, winding his arms around Harry's slender frame and deepening the kiss as they moved in tandem towards the sofa. Unperturbed by this motion, Harry snaked one hand up the potion master's back and into his silky black hair, sensuously winding long strands of it around his fingers and causing the other man to moan softly.

Unaware of the shocked boy standing in the open doorway that they now occupied, the two older men lost themselves in their embrace, only startled into action when they heard an irritated and familiar voice emanating from the other room.

'Potter, watch where you're…….'

At this Snape and Harry sprang immediately apart, and the older man automatically flung the door further open in order to give them both room to wield their wands. By now such manoeuvres had become second nature to the pair, and each was used to unconsciously considering the other when formulating plans, be they bellicose or otherwise. With drawn wands pointed at the two frozen figures outside the office, they were able to clearly observe the horrified expressions of their younger selves illuminated by the warm glow of the office light.

Suddenly beset by a rush of memory, the future Harry fought the emotions that flooded in alongside them, knowing that it was imperative to put the time-travelling pair at ease as soon as possible. Thus, putting aside the knowledge of how much pain and confusion the surprisingly young figures in front of him would have to endure in the coming days, the future Harry lowered his wand and smiled disarmingly at the two intruders, speaking softly into the tense silence.

'Welcome', he said, 'we've been expecting you'.

--THE END--

Hi,

Well, it's finally finished! Forgive the slightly rough nature of this last chapter, I was determined to get something written before a million other things distracted me. (Sleep, for instance...) If it's really terrible, then let me know and I'll rewrite it, but most importantly I would like to say thank you for reading this and being patient with my incredibly slow updates, and moreover to wish you the best of luck in everything you go on to do from this point.

Please feel free to comment if you have the time, and thanks once again!

IL


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